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MOSTLY COMICS 



Mary Moncure Parker 
























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MOSTLY COMICS 







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MOSTLY COMICS 

Monologues, Readings and Poems 

By 

MARY MONCURE PARKER 

it 

Author of "Funny Monologues and Poems," 

‘' Lively Monologues," etc. 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY 

i 923 










.-5,0 6 




c\Q> 


COPYRIGHT, 1923 

BY 

MARY MONCURE PARKER 


Made in U. S. A. 




U (o 1 % 1 

NOV 13 ’23 



Cl A 7 6 5 5 3 2 




CONTENTS 


Awakening, The .... 


• 

1 3 1 

Bellhop and the Boigler, The . 


• 

U 

Chorus Girl Says Something, The 



W 

Co-Ed and the Cave-Man, The . 



7 

Conquest, The . 



S 1 

Entertaining Angels Unawares . 



123 

Farmer Lad and the Gypsy Bold, The 


*9 

Feline Psychology 



104 

In Aloha Land .... 



74 

“ It Pays to Advertise’’ 



122 

Jezebel ..... 



118 

Lament of Seventeen, The . 



89 

Lucindy Jones Has a Holiday . 



81 

Maggie McCarthy and the Kids 

Mammy Liza Tells About Mister 

Samson 

43 

and Miss Delilah 



99 

Mind Reading and Mandy . 



22 

Mr. Finkelstein Sells a Suit 



U 

Over the ’Phone Wires 



112 

Two Straws and a Bottle of Pop 

• 

• 

66 


✓ 




CONTENTS 


Untamed, The ...... 38 

Up-to-the-Minute Jingle, An . . . 135 

What George Thinks of Calories . * 27 

When Cupid Decides ... . * 86 

Whip Hand, The.67 

Woman With the White Soul, The . .136 


6 



THE CO-ED AND THE CAVE-MAN 
A Monologue 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Doris, the Co-Ed. 

Corinne, her friend. 

Mr. Richard Lancaster, otherwise 
known as “ Dick” the Cave-Man. 

Scene. —The veranda of Doris’ home in the 
early summer. 

Doris chatters. 

Let’s curl up on this hammock, Corinne, and 
do hand me those chocolates before I expire. 
Oh, drop jour tennis racquet any old where. 
The mater is up-stairs taking a snooze, and will 
not insist on order. Anyhow, we are going to 
the seashore next week, so things are rather at 
sixes and sevens here at home for the present. 
I am simply delirious about going. Why, you 
thought I didn’t care to go? Whatever put 
such an idea into your head? Because of Dick? 
What will he do? I am sure I don’t know what 
Mr. Richard Lancaster will do. His movements 
do not in any way interest me—not in the least. 
He is simply passe. That’s all off. I can’t see 

7 




MOSTLY COMICS 


Dick for dust. Is it Hal Webster?—Worse 
and worse! Oh, my dear, don’t dig back into 
ancient history! It was eons ago, ages upon 
top of ages that I saw Hal—’way last summer 
when we used to go canoeing in the river up at 
the Island House. And as for Dick—I mean 
Mr. Richard Lancaster—well, he was sort of 
interesting when he seemed a bit of a hero and 
was half-back on the college team. In lots of 
winning games? Oh, yes,—luck probably. He 
looked big and rough in his outfit and I will 
admit he is a fair looking person out of foot¬ 
ball togs. But one’s taste does change so dur¬ 
ing the semesters from half-backs to actors or 
members of the glee club or dancers—whatever 
is necessary to keep up a constant thrillage; 
or this globe would simply be an impossible 
place to inhabit for a co-ed at least. And 
that’s my world at present. In fact, I look 
with horror upon the time when I shall be 
ancient and tied for life to one person. 

Of course, my parents seem fairly happ}', 
but they are so sort of settled as it were. The 
mater did take a spell of dancing last winter, 
but Dad howled so when she pulled him out to 
the club dances that she gave up in despair. 
Why should elderly people want to jump 
around in that perfectly childish way? Why, 
mother’s certainly—well, she doesn’t tell her 
age, but it must be near forty—more or less. 
Of course, she seems spry and I love her to 
distraction and all that, but there is a time to 

8 





THE CO-ED AND THE CAVE-MAN 


quit and put away childish things. Is there 
something like that in the Bible or is it Shake¬ 
speare or someone? Who said it? 

We had an adorable college year, Corinne, 
even considering mid-year exams and the last 
minute cramming and slow bells that wouldn’t 
ring when one did not know the lesson and had 
to duck the Prof.’s eagle eye. I wish you had 
been with us instead of in that Seminary for the 
female of the species. 

Once in a while Dad gets an awful grouch 
and vows that I know more about sorority 
rushes, and dormitory suppers, and fudge 
parties, and candy and flowers and proms, than 
I know about Socrates or Livy or Kant, but 
when Dad assumes that purely masculine atti¬ 
tude I am almost tempted to turn feminist and 
ooze knowledge every time I speak. Once I told 
him so and he said that would be a vast im¬ 
provement because at present I oozed only slang 
and chatter about silly? asinine boys. Isn’t it 
a scream that when a man gets older all young 
fellows in his eyes are idiots? 

Wasn’t it Susan B. Anthony who said, “ Give 
me liberty or give me death ” ? Well, I’ll give 
old Liberty the glad hand whenever I meet her. 
Dad sometimes imagines he’s a regular slave- 
driver. I will admit as I look over the year my 
mind is somewhat kaleidoscopic and a jumble 
of rush parties, tea, sandwiches and cakes, 
dances, motor rides, psychology and math, but 
it is really a well-rounded experience that makes 

9 




MOSTLY COMICS 


one a perfect woman, nobly planned as Long¬ 
fellow said or was it Walt Whitman? He 
writes such cute things. 

I am sure I never missed a psychology class. 
Our psych. Prof, was the best looking thing 
and young, but yet awfully wise-looking, posi¬ 
tively owlish with those big eyes of his behind 
tortoise shelled specs. We dubbed him 
“ Psyche ” behind his back because he had such 
a soulful way of looking at one. Although when 
I read a sentence I was always in agony for 
fear he would ask me for an analysis of it, and 
what I made of it. 

What, Corinne, you are simply dying to hear 
of Dick? My dear, I told you Mr. Richard 
Lancaster was out of my life. You heard we 
were engaged? Well, I hate to admit it, but 
we were for a while—secretly—it was much 
more romantic, but I gave him back his ring. 
Why? Corinne, you are so persistent. Pass 
me those chocolates. Don’t eat them all, piggy* 
you will get obese, my dear, simply and plainly 
fat. You will never let up until I tell you? 
Well, in plain language Dick—er—Richard 
Lancaster is a brute—a tyrant—a regular 
cave-man. He wants to own your thoughts and 
tell you how to behave. Why, he’s more domi¬ 
neering than Dad, and that’s useless. You 
ought to hear Dad rave when my young brother 
and I let slip the latest slang. He says if he 
hears any more about ants’ eyebrows, or angle- 
worms’ sunbonnets, or elephants’ earmuffs, he’ll 

10 






THE CO-ED AND THE CAVE-MAN 


put me in a convent, and my small brother in 
a reform school. And now, Corinne, you see 
the awful restrictions that surround my life; 
although I must admit Dad forgets all about 
discipline only once in a while, and we talk as 
we please until he gets another spell, when I 
have to modify English as she is spoke. 

What, Corinne? Didn’t I wear Dick’s frat 
pin for a while? Certainly, my dear. I see I 
am in for it. I gave it back just before last 
semester. One cannot be ruled with a rod of 
iron. This assumption of cave-man manners 
don’t go with me. 

You know Jimmy Wiggins? He sent those 
chocolates and he’s the most marvelously divine 
dancer, one can forgive him if he isn’t hand¬ 
some, but he’s a good dresser and awfully 
courteous. Dick said Jim’s gray matter sim¬ 
ply wasn’t. Then I have been playing golf with 
Jerry Noble, and motoring with Phil Kayes. 
Phil belongs to the glee club and sings adorably. 
He has the most heavenly voice. Dick had 
something sarcastic to say about them all. He’s 
studying law and I told him I hoped he’d be a 
judge as he was so clever about passing sen¬ 
tences on every chap he saw, and he said he 
hoped he would, as he knew he could send most 
of the mutts that hung around me to jail for 
that was where they’d wind up. Imagine such 
language, Corinne, and such an assumption of 
superiority over one’s fellow men! I reminded 
him over and over again that our engagement 

11 



MOSTLY COMICS 


was a secret and we were not to interfere with 
one another. 

When we had the club opera last spring I had 
a part, and Jimmy Wiggins had to make love 
to me, and we had a darling dance, too, in the 
show that made a hit, and Dick grouched like 
a bear with a sore head. He even took a spell 
of criticizing me for changing my name from 
Dora to Doris. All the girls were doing it, and 
for bobbing my hair! I hope he’s satisfied now 
no one bobs it any more. Didn’t you change 
your name from Cora to Corinne? Corinne is 
so much more Frenchy and ducky. There is no 
class to Cora and Dora. I don’t think Dick 
cared at all, but he was just jealous. The wa}' 
Ada Reeves hangs around Dick—I mean Rich¬ 
ard Lancaster, lately, is sickening, positively 
nauseating, but Ada is a mess; she is so senti¬ 
mental. But, my dear, he—I mean Richard 
Lancaster—has passed out of my life, never to 
return, come what may. 

Every day he drives by this house, but he 
never looks this way. He used to have a dif¬ 
ferent girl with him each day, but now he drives 
alone, and I simply snub him unmercifully— 
never look his way. How do I know he is 
there? Why, just surmise, I suppose. 

Another chocolate, honey. Thanks. You 
think I look pale and thin? Why, my dear, I 
am feeling fine and I play tennis and dance and 
go all the time, just to try to forget. Why, 
what am I saying? I must have been absent- 

12 




THE CO-ED AND THE CAVE-MAN 


minded—yes—yes, I do admit Dick’s awfully 
good looking really, but he is such a cave-man— 
no, a regular sheik. 

Look, look, Corinne, there he comes down the 
street! No, don’t look either; keep your head 
down. Of course it’s Dick. Why, for pity’s 
sake, he’s at the walk. The nerve to park 
here! What? Coming in? Heavenly cats, 
and I’ve been playing tennis and look like the 
wreck of the Hesperus. Why should I care? 
I don’t; not at all. I’ll just stay right here 
and prove it. 

Er—Good afternoon, Mr. Lancaster, to what 
do we owe this visit? You know Miss Ather¬ 
ton? I presumed so. You are going to sit 
down? Well, of course, I cannot prevent you 
from so doing. You are stronger than I—a 
weak woman. 

Oh, don’t go, Corinne! You must? I wish 
you would stay. No? Well, I’ll expect you 
to-morrow, at ten? All right. By, by, dear. 
(Walks up and dozen. Pauses.) Er—what 
did you sav, Mr. Lancaster? Nothing? If 
you expect to be a lawyer that’s rather a poor 
recommendation. Your flow of language is 
meager. Er—what? Will I sit down? I’ve 
no objection—no, not beside you on the couch. 
I prefer to sit on this chair. Dick Lancaster, 
how dare you pull me to a seat beside you? 
(Sits dozen.) Dick, how dare you try to kiss 
me? Forgive you? Never. What are you 
doing? Putting the ring back on my finger. 

13 




MOSTLY COMICS 


(Softens and wipes her eyes.) Oh, Dick, I’ve 
been so lonesome and—I do—love you—a little 
—a great deal?—Yes. And I don’t care for 
anyone else?—No. I was going to a dance with 
Jimmy to-night. What? Will I break the 
engagement? Er—Yes, and go with you? Yes, 
Dick. We’ll never, never quarrel again? No, 
we won’t. 

What, you don’t care if I bob my hair, or call 
myself Doris or anything? And you haven’t 
slept and you’re crazy about me? Oh, Dick, 
you are a darling, too. You heard I was going 
to the seashore, and you couldn’t stand it? 
Well, Dad doesn’t want to go and neither do I 
now, and so between us I guess we can stay right 
here, maybe. What? You’re wild about me? 
Oh, Dick, you are such a perfect dear! Oh, 
Dick, I’ve just thought there will be a moon 
to-night. Isn’t this an adorable world? 


14 




MR. FINKELSTEIN SELLS A SUIT 
A Monologue 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 
Mr. Finkelstein, and his Customer. 

Scene. —A Second-Hand Clothing Store . 

Mr. Finkelstein elucidates on the value of the 

clothing he sells . 

Some clodings to-day? A nice Spring suit? 
I’ll show you the very, most stylishest latest ting 
yet I got in suits—a nice check, black mit vite 
in betweens. Vot? You don’t vant to blay 
checkers? Ah, you is vun of dem vaudville 
comics I bet, on de stage, vot? 

Veil, here iss a nice gray—de latest in smoke 
gray. Von’t show no dirt in de city smoke. 
It is de smoke shade, see? Spotted? No, no— 
dat iss de vay de light falls on it. Dirty? 
Yoi! Yoi! Dot vas cleaned. You don’t ex¬ 
pect a new suit entirely yet in de seconds hands 
blace. Dis is oxpensive goots—new, dot costs 
you fife times as much. Only svells vears dis 
kind goots. 

I ge-pa} r t much monies for dot suit, and I 
sell it reasonable. I don’t keep no cheap skate 
blace for bums. Dis is for gents like vot you 

15 




MOSTLY COMICS 


iss. I don’t keep no half vay blace like Henry 
Rubels next door. De grefter ! 

Look even at dot dummy of his. You vould 
laff yourself sick at de face uf dot dummy. 

He speeded up and got dot dummy ven I put 
mine in. I got four, and he has only vun al¬ 
ready. Such crowds as come in front mine 
store ven I put in my dummies. You could go 
vay out to de street to get by on de sidewalk. 
Heiny he rite avay got yellus and de next day 
buy dat bum dummy vicli vas aboud third hand. 

You don’t like dis gray suit no? Yell, I haf 
just de latest dark green in styles for dis Spring 
—like de Spring. You tink of flowers and birds 
and a young lady maybe, ven you see it. All de 
girls vill follow behint such a stylisher. Put 
it on—de nice goat. Oh, my! my! Ain’t dot 
fine? Fits closer dan de vail paper yet, eh? 
Am I holding de back seam? No, no, for vy 
should I do dat? 

See, turn around. Look at de back. Too 
loose? Oh yoi! voi! Yould you choke your 
heart vid de closeness of it? How much? Only 
tventy leedle dollars. I am giving it away, 
positivel. Yot? Too much? Haf a heart mit 
your body. I got a vife and fife small off¬ 
springs. Yould you vish I bury my children 
from starvation alreddv? 

All my suits look new, like just from the hants 
of the tailor. I haf a fine line clodings, hats, 
caps, shoes, ev’ryding first class. 

Diss is a fine suit vot you can vear for years 

16 




MR. FINKELSTEIN SELLS A SUIT 


and years. No! no! Dot ain’t no moth hole. 
Vere I buy dese suits dey don’t keep no moths. 
I don’t buy no flivver suits. Mine iss limousines. 
Don’t like it? Vy, dot’s grand. Too much? 
No, I tell you dot’s cheap. Look at de goots, 
like iron. I don’t raise on de brice suits, though 
my expenses is ge-doubled too, lately. Last 
veek my vife came near dying mit de eppelplexy. 
She va} r s two hundret pounds. Though de 
doctor say she vas werra werra sick, ven I bring 
home second hand seal-fur coats dot looks like 
new, vy den she rewived—almost from Death’s 
door. 

“ I must get veil and vear dot coat, in front 
mit Mrs. Heiny Rubels, and see how green she 
become mit yellusy,” she said. 

Veil, I promised her de goat, tinkin’ maybe 
she vould die, and de promise made her hap¬ 
pier—ven beholdt! Yoi! Yoi! She got veil and 
she vore de goat last Sunday, and now I half 
lost de brofit on de sales alretty. Such a 
bizness! 

Vait. Vait! Don’t go. If you don’t like 
dot green suit, I haf yust de vun for you. It 
iss in de small pox.—But vot makes you run? 
Small pox? No! no! Not a disease. In de 
pox—de small pox on de shelf. Here it is, a 
nice stripe. You ain’t no conwict to wear 
stripes? Ha! Ha! Jokin’again alretty. 

Veil, dese stripes dey run up and down. Dey 
make you look tall and grant. Vot you say? 
Notting to-day. You go by Heiny Rubels, and 

17 




MOSTLY COMICS 


look? Mein gracious! Don’t go dere, I pray 
you. He is like vun of dem Klugle Kulxers vot 
you read of, or vun of dem bandits. You neffer 
get avay from him. As a frent, I beg you, I 
implore you, keep away from dot Heiny Rubels. 
I sell you dot gray suit, fifteen dollars. I am 
giffing it to you, making a bresent. I vill wrap 
it up rite avay. No? Too much? Vould you 
take de bret from de mouts of my babies? Too 
much?—Oh, yoi, yoi! Vot—seven fifty? Don’t 
make me faint mit de hearts failure. All rite, 
all rite, seven fifty it iss. Take it, a grant suit, 
like for de Brince mit Vales or one of dem 
Vandergould boys. Here it iss wrepped up. 

Tanks! Tanks! I am yust handing you dot 
suit, handing out my brofits like so much baper. 

I vish you luck. Come arount 

again. 

(A pause. After customer leaves stands rub¬ 
bing his hands together.) 

Seven dollars fifty cents! I got dot suit for 
one dollar twenty-five and I hope it holts to- 
gedder ven he vears it tvice yet. Oy! Oy! 
Such a life! It vears a man out alretty. But 
I keep him avay from Heiny Rubels—de 
Gref ter! 


Good day 


18 



THE FARMER LAD AND THE 
GYPSY BOLD 


What ho! I will sing you a song to-day, 
Of a farmer lad and a Gypsy bold. 

For merry tricks doth yon Cupid play, 
And the tale of love never grows old. 

The farmer lad plowed the furrows deep, 
As he sturdily trudged along; 

While the Gypsy hurried a tryst to keep, 
Singing a lilting song; 

A lay of the road and the roving life, 
With never a thought of care, 

Away from the struggle of daily strife, 
With Spring calling everj'where, 

In flower and wind and budding leaf, 

In the heart of the black-eyed maid, 

Who tripped along with fairy step, 

Bold and quite unafraid. 

“ Yo ho! You lad! Why work to-day, 
Through all these lovely hours ? 

Come with me to the woods away, 

We’ll drink in the breath of the flowers; 

19 


MOSTLY COMICS 


“ I’ll dance for you on a carpet of green, 
Your pulses will keep in tune, 

To the clicking ring of the tambourine, 

All day, till the rise of the moon, 

“ We’ll wander far to that happy land, 

To the place where dreams come true, 

You and I together, hand in hand, 

Oh, boy with the eyes of blue.” 

Like a bright-hued bird she perched on the 
gate. 

Smiling with lips so red, 

As one who looks at her own true mate, 

Yet never a word he said, 

That farmer lad with the yellow hair, 
’Neath his tan crept a deeper glow, 

His heart strings tugged for the maiden fair. 
Though his lagging feet feared to go. 

“ Six feet two and you dare not stray,” 

She laughed and her teeth gleamed white, 

“ When fortune calls you must obey, 

You are mine, oh my lad of might! 

“ Let others toil when the Summer glows, 

From dawn ’til the day is done; 

The clinging bee hums to the dewy rose, 
Naught matters if love is won. 

20 





FARMER LAD AND GYPSY BOLD 


“ Come follow me ’round the world, my sweet, 
’Tis the way of a maid to be shy,” 

The fetters fell from his lagging feet, 

With a bound he caught her on high; 

Away! Away! Down the Romany Road, 
They two went, hand in hand, 

From his shoulders fell the dragging load, 
On the quest for the heart’s Dreamland. 

What ho! I will sing you a song to-day, 
Of the farmer who wed the Gypsy bold, 
And wandered far o’er the hills away, 
Love’s story will never grow old. 


21 



MIND READING AND MANDY 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 
Mandy, Liza Johnsing, her friend. 

Scene.—Mandy’s kitchen. 

Mandy expresses herself. 

Has you evah heard ’bout dis heah min’ 
readin’ dey talks so much ’bout, Liza Johnsing? 
Dey is fokes what kin look right down into yo’ 
min’ an’ tell what you is thinkin’. Dat’s what 
my mistis done tole me an’ since den I ain’t 
looked her square in de eyes fer fear she’d read 
’bout dat loose change she dropped on de pahlah 
flo’ an’ thought somebody’d picked her pocket 
in de cah. Dere ain’t no use disturbin’ her 
peace of min’ wid doubts. 

What }^ou say, Liza? You don’ believe in 
nothin’ }^ou can’t see? Don’ talk such foolish- 
ment. You’s got a brain, ain’t yo’? Well, has 
you evah saw it? Yo’ done had a pain many 
times, but is yo’ acquainted wid de pussonal ap¬ 
pearance of a pain? Ev’body has done gone 
plum crazy ’bout min’ readin’. But Ah’s cured. 
Ah ain’t gwine to fool wid dat stuff. Dat’s 
hoodoo stuff sho’s you is hawn. 

Last week Henry Clay took me to a min’ 
readin’ show fur our honeymoon, kase we done 

22 



MIND READING AND MANDY 


got married in de afternoon an’ had a swell 
suppali an’ den went to de show whar dey was 
one of dem Hoodoo Min’ Puffessahs. Ah 
hadn’t knowed Henry ver’ long when he ax me 
to marry him an’ Ah give mah consent. 

Well, we went to de show, me an’ Henry. 
Dis heah Puffessah advertize to read any brain 
in de room; he sho’ was some loose talker. His 
words flowed lak de watah from one of dem fire 
hydrants when dey takes de cap off, or lak a 
river bustin’ ovah a dam. He run round de 
stage an’ shet up his eyes an’ he say: 

“ Don’ you feel dem thought currents flyin’ 
roun’? ” But Limkum Wheeler he call out he 
didn’t feel no currents, nor raisins neithah hit- 
tin’ him, an’ de Puffessah got mad. 

Then he call for somebody to wuk on, kase 
he wanted to read their min’, an’ Julius Caesar 
Wood, he walk up but jes’ as he got on de 
platform his mothah call out an’ say dat Julius 
Caesar didn’t hab no min’, not more’n a thimble 
full!—Kase his haid was a dice box an’ he didn’t 
know de name of wuk an’ dat she’d been sup- 
pohtin’ him fur all his life, evah since he done 
landed in de worl’, an’ shakin’ de bones was all 
he knowed, so Julius Caesar was so’ as de dickens 
at sech talk, kase eve’body laughed an’ he went 
an’ sot down again. 

Well, Liza, bimeby things begun to move 
lively an’ dat Puffessah had folks singin’ an’ 
laughin’ an’ cryin’ an’ standin’ on dey haids 
wid de hypnotizin’ on de platform. 

23 




MOSTLY COMICS 


You nevah seen seek a lot of foolishment 
actin’ in yo’ bawn days. 

Ev’thin’ was goin’ along accordin’ to arrange- 
munt, untwell dat Ann Eliza Clay come along. 

Just den de Puffessah spotted me an’ Henry 
settin’ in de aujience an’ lie say: 

“ I kin read dat man’s min’, dat fine lookin’ 
man wid de fiowah in his buttonhole, settin’ 
beside de beautiful lady with a large bokay in 
her han’,” an’ dat was my bridal bokay, Liza. 

“ De genleman stan’ up please,” he say to 
Henry, an’ Henry stood up. 

44 Yo’ is thinkin’ of 3m’ lubbly bride,” de 
Puffessah say. 

44 Right yo’ is,” say Henry. “ Me an’ me 
new wife wuz married dis afternoon.” 

All at once dah was a yell, an’ Ann Eliza 
came chargin’ at him, down de aisle, lak a fiah 
engine. 

44 Wat you doin’ wid mail husband? ” she say 
to me, trvin’ to git at my hair, but Henry stood 
up front to guard me from dat tigress. 

“ Dat Puffessah’s right,” Henry say. 44 Dis is 
my new wife.” 

44 Since when? ” say Ann Eliza. 

44 Since dis afternoon,” say Henry. 

“ Oh, you lef’ me las’ month, Henry Clay, an’ 
you thought I was on de wes’ side an’ wouldn’t 
heah of yo’ carryin’s on! Whar 3m’ divorce¬ 
ment papers? ” she sav. 

44 1 ain’t got ’em yet,” he say. “Ah gits ’em 
when Ah gits my nex’ month’s salary. Mah 

24 



MIND READING AND MANDY 


boss give me $19.75 fur mail divorcement 
charges, but I seen a nice pahlah chair dat would 
be pretty in mah new flat an’ Ah bought it fo’ 
my new bride,” say Henry. 

“ Oh, fo’ 3 r o’ new bride,” Ann Eliza say.“ You 
ain’t got no new bride. Onmarried you sho’ 
ain’t to me. You come right home wid me an’ 
to-morrow you git dat pahlah chair, an’ bring 
home to my ’partment whar it blongs,” an’ she 
yank him out of de place by his collah. 

I didn’t know dat man wa’n’t deevoced, Liza, 
an’ I dun dropped down on de flo’ in a faint. 
Anyhow, I wa’n’t contestin’ nothin’ wid dat 
woman, what weighs ovah two hundred poun’s. 

All of a sudden in de confusion, de lights went 
out, an’ when somebocW turn ’em up mos’ all de 
watches an’ de money in de crowd, includin’ mah 
fifty dollahs what I’d saved up fo’ de honeymoon 
was gone, an’ so was de Puffessah an’ a man 
what he hired to ’sist him. 

He picked de pockets of de crowd an’ dey 
made a vanishment from de place, sho’ nuff. 

Min’ readin’ is suttin’ sho’ de thing what I 
got plenty enuff of. An’ I’se back in the ole 
place wukin’. In fac’, I didn’t give her no 
notice, kase marriage is somethin’ lak Death, 
oncertain lak, and sudden, an’ I didn’t know 
how mine was ffwine to tumminate. 

O 

I ain’t got no new pahlah cheer, lettin’ alone 
a new husban’ an’ I’se mostly short fifty puf- 
feckly good dollahs. 

If anybody mentions min’ readin’ to me, dey’s 

25 



MOSTLY COMICS 


gwine to git a bump on der min’s what won’ go 
down in a hurry. 

Bride am a word what the dictionary kin drop 
fur all of me, an’ min’ readin’ am another word 
what am useless. 


26 



WHAT GEORGE THINKS OF CALORIES 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 
George and his friend , Fat. 

Scene. —Back porch of George's home. 

George airs his views. 

The worst thing, Fat, was when Ma took up 
with the calleries and vittyminds. Ma never let 
me say vittles, but I don’t see but that’s as good 
a word as vittyminds, what sounds as coarse. 

“ Yo’ Ma is a nice lady,” Liza, our hired girl 
says, “ but she sho’ can git took up wid more 
of them newfangled fabs than any lady I ever- 
see.” That’s what Liza said to me, an’ it’s 
true. 

“ Oh, well, it’s all right for you, Liza,” I said, 
“ because whatever Ma makes us do, don’t make 
any difference to you—you eat and have what 
you want.” 

‘‘You said it, boy,” said Liza. “When Ah 
can’t, Ah’ll be a corpses. Dah’s mighty little 
vittles in dem calikers an’ vittlemines.” 

Last year Ma w r as crazy about the nature 
cure, Fat, and she made everybody eat raw 
cabbage an’ carrots an’ no meat, until Pa got 
sore an’ said w r e’d better close the house an’ *snt 
a stable an’ some box stalls. 

Ma said that was the best thing, an' r e 

27 



MOSTLY COMICS 


wouldn’t need a doctor if we lived simply, an’ Pa 
said, “ No, only a horse doctor.” 

Ev’ry mornin’ I had to have a ice cold shower. 
I used to yell when the cold water touched me, 
and Pa said he’d lick me if I made such a noise, 
and Ma said I had to take the shower; wasn’t 
that the caterpillar’s crutches, Fat? 

“ Ev’ry day we’re diggin’ our graves with our 
teeth when we eat meat,” Ma said. Pa said Ma 
could order a grave digger for him right away, 
if he didn’t get more food, because he was near 
dead anyway. 

“ Don’t think so much of }mur stummick,” 
Ma said. 

“ I can’t find mine,” Pa said; “ it’s sunk out 
of sight, unless that’s what’s bumping against 
my spine. You go to tea fights an’ bridge 
parties and get filled up,” said Pa, “ an’ 3 ^ 011 ’re 
doin’ your dietin’ by proxy.” 

“ No such thing,” Ma said. “ I’m true to 
my principles.” 

Then her principles switched, an’ she changed 
to countin’ callerics and vittyminds. 

“ You have made such a fuss,” she said to 
Pa, “ I have bought a little book. You may 
eat anything you want.” 

“ Hurrah,” says Pa. 

“ Hold on,” says Ma, “ an’ hear to the end.” 

“ I knew there was a catch in it,” said Pa. 

“ It’s like this,” said Ma, “ each person may 
eat what he wants, but not so much. A man 
may have, maybe, 2,500 calories.” 

28 



WHAT GEORGE THINKS OF CALORIES 


“ That sounds fair,” Pa said. 

“ But a woman can only have 1,500 calories 
or so.” 

“ First time on record a man got ahead of a 
woman,” Pa put in, but Ma looked scornful at 
him. 

“ How many can a boy have, Ma? ” I asked. 

“About nine hundred,” Ma replied- 

“ Goody,” I hollered, but Gee Whiz! Nine 
hundred of them calleries wasn’t half enough to 
eat, the way Ma figured food. 

Not only that, but Ma got mixed up with some 
kind of philosophy, Fat, preachin’ or somethin’, 
an’ she wanted me to go around sayin’ “ Every 
day I’m growin’ better an’ better.” What kind 
of a nut would the fellers think me, and then I 
had to add “ Every day I’m gettin’ happier an’ 
happier,” but I wasn’t. I said it before her, but 
when I got alone, I kept sayin’ over an’ over, 
“ Every day I’m gettin’ sorer an’ sorer, an’ 
Every day I’m gettin’ darn madder an’ madder.” 

I don’t know what I would have done if Liza 
hadn’t slipped doenuts an’ pie to me behind 
Ma’s back. 

Well, one day Ma went away for a coupla 
weeks, and Pa said, “ Liza, there’s a wagon load 
of food on the way to the house, an’ it won’t be 
calleries an’ vittyminds.” 

Say, believe me, we had chicken an’ punkin 
pie an’ hot rolls, until Pa an’ me most got sick, 
an’ near had to have a doctor. 

We was lookin’ fine when Ma came back. 

29 




MOSTLY COMICS 


“ Nothin’ like callikers an’ vittyminds,” says 
Pa. 

Ma said, “ I changed my ideas a little,” she 
said. 

“ What, again,” roared Pa, though Pa was 
only kiddin’ for we’d had a letter from Aunt 
Mag where Ma was visitin’, an’ she told of all 
the parties an’ lunches that was give for Ma, 
an’ dinners an’ everything. 

“ You don’t mean you’re goin’ to change from 
countin’ calleries when you’re lookin’ so fine,” 
Pa said, makin’ believe he was shocked. 

“ We must stick, ’cause we can’t dig our 
graves with our teeth,” Pa said. 

“ I think,” says Ma, “ we’ll dig a little— 
what’s the use of livin’ so strenuous? Let’s 
bury the calleries,” and that night we had a 
grand dinner, chicken an’ ice-cream an’ mince 
pie. 

“ Liza,” said Pa one day, “ you must be a 
follower of Cooay—Every day your cookin’ gets 
better an’ better.” 

“ I don’t know nothin’ about your cooties,” 
said Liza, “ but dat’s what I sure prides mah- 
self on, mah cookin’, an’ I’m sho’ glad I gets a 
chance to show off, an’ we don’t eat no more of 
dem calikers.” 

I hope, Fat, Ma don’t get no more fads for a 
long while, ’til I’m grown, so we can eat. 

Come on, pick up the bat an’ we’ll play ball, 
after I get a hand full of cookies for us. Liza’s 
cookies are sure the angleworm’s sunbonnet. 

30 




THE BELLHOP AND THE BOIGLER 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

The Bellhop. 

The Clerk. 

The Boigler. 

Scene.— A family hotel . 

The Bellhop has a story to tell. 

Before I was a bellhop, say, I t’ought brass 
buttons was somethin’ swell; now if brass but¬ 
tons was pebbles I wouldn’t stoop to pick up a 
fist full. What wid runnin’ up an’ down stairs 
an’ chasin’ round wid ice-water to dames what 
tinks tips is somethin’ that’s give in the races, 
it’s a bum steer if you tink life in a uniform is a 
cinch. Don’t let nobody string you dat de 
bellhop’s bench is a place to rest. 

The clerk gets sore if he sees you still more’n 
two minutes and asks you if you tink you’se a 
decoration or a lobby ornamint. I ain’t workin’ 
in no Biltdorf but we got one of them fam’ly 
hotels that’s up in the Eighties. ’Tain’t too 
classy but some folks lives there year by year, 
and they’s drummers what wouldn’t go nowheres 

31 



MOSTLY COMICS 


else on a bet though it’s my personal and inside 
opinion they’re nuts in the head for gettin’ that 
kind of a hunch. 

There wasn’t much out-of-town-in-de-summer 
stuff about our dump, but it would pass as 
hotels go. There was the usual old dame what 
was long on coin and short on temper, and whose 
room was too cold or too hot or too damp or too 
dry though she’s lived there ten years, and you 
couldn’t chase her away wid a club. She could 
buy out cle place but sticks to a room pretty 
near on de roof. It is the top room for hers 
and huggin’ the filthy looker ’til the doller 
signs is pretty near rubbed off. 

The fat old gent that wants a lots of waitin’ 
on, sure he’s dere but he tips liberal—which is 
more than you can say for the fresh thing that 
woiks down town and hangs over the desk 
chinnin’ wid the clerk but she ain’t such a worse 
looker, so they conwerses consider’ble. 

The ancient old maid on the second floor is 
stuck on the clerk too, but when he lamps her 
first he does a vanishin’ act and beats it into 
de private office. 

Dere’s de jolly drummer who tinks he’s a 
scream an’ alius greets you wid: “Well, Gen¬ 
eral, how’s the boy? ” He not bein’ in de army, 
I s’pose he tinks dat’s a joke, but as he’s 
loose wid de coin, as well as the mout, I laughs 
immoderate, though I has to tickle my sides to 
do it. 

I ain’t forgettin’ to mention de blond widder 

32 



THE BELLHOP AND THE BOIGLER 


wid de dog, who pays me to walk it up and 
down, but bein’ a human bein’ an’ not a dog 
catcher I genrully ties de mutt up in a court 
off de kitchen until de time’s up an’ she ain’t no 
wiser ’cause her room is in de front. 

Kids we have around de place which is good 
enough as kids go, none of dem angels like dere 
mudders tinks dey is but not bein’ so old I feel 
like pullin’ off some of de rough stuff once in a 
while myself, though the kids what does that 
don’t last long w r id de management. Dere was 
one mamma’s boy what knocked on de doors and 
rung bells but after mamma told the manager 
what a merry, playful child Robbie was de 
manager and the kid’s mamma had woids, and 
Robbie an’ his lovin’ parient wasn’t seen no more 
round de hotel. Of course, we has de flapper 
wot flirts wid everything, me included, an’ wot 
jumps from bobbed hair an’ short skirts to high 
combs an’ trails an’ veilin’ stuff hangin’ on de 
ground whenever de fashion changes. You kin 
tell de styles a year ahead by lookin’ at her 
glad rags. She hits in high every minute, 
includin’ de latest slang an’ jazz step an’ 
evervt’ing. She’s de bee’s ankle, dat young 
female. You’d oughter hear her mudder talk 
to her. 66 Flossie,” she says, “ wot would Grand- 
mudder say at such talk? ” But Flossie an’ 
her Grandmudder don’t discourse in de same 
langwidge no more’n if they was a Greek and a 
Svenska. 

Say, here I am runnin’ on about de boids in 

33 



MOSTLY COMICS 


our hotel like a buzz waggin skiddin’ on a wet 
street an 5 I started out to tell about de guy 
in “ 416.” 

De Lord Mayor of London, alias de head bell¬ 
hop, who tinks he’s runnin’ de whole hotel, told 
me to get a walise from de check room and take 
it to “ 418,” me bein’ deep in one of dem dere 
mystery trillers in de poiper, readin’ on de slv, 
an’ tinkin’ maybe I could get de hang of de 
story and git a thousand bucks or ma 3 'be at de 
least ten iron men what was offered for solving 
de same. Wid my mind on de guy in de green 
felt hat in de story, an’ tinkin’ he w r as de 
moiderer or maybe it was de woman wid de red 
wig—I say my mind bein’ on dese tings I knocks 
absent-minded like on de door of No. “ 416 ” 
instead of “ 418.” When dere wasn’t no re¬ 
sponse for a minute, I knocks again an’ says, 
“ Here’s de walise,” an’ presently de door opens 
cautious an’ I was yanked in by de collar before 
I had time to bat an eyelash. 

“ What you peekin’ through de keyhole for? ” 
says de guy, a thin boid wid a black mustache, 
“ I’ll learn you to spy on me,” an’ just den his 
mustache whot he’d put on quick, fell off an’ at 
one an’ de same moment I got a knock on de 
beezer an’ didn’t know nothin’, me goin’ in a 
heap. When I come to somebody was shakin’ 
me an’ I was settin’ on de floor in de hall wid de 
walise behind me an’ de head bellhop an’ a woman 
was standin’ over me. “ Wot’s de matter wid 
you, drunk or crazy? Dis lady’s been ringin’ 

34 



THE BELLHOP AND THE BOIGLER 


fur half an hour for her walise,” de boss bellhop 
was sayin’. 

I gazed around dazed like— 44 De guy in 
4 416 ’ give me a crack on de bean,” I says. 

44 He’d ought to have a medal,” says de head 
bellhop. 

“ Not de nice lookin’ man wid the black 
mustache? ” asks the female woman. 44 The boy 
must be inebriated; it’s disgraceful.” 

44 No, I ain’t spifflicated, Loidy,” I says, 44 and 
dat boid ain’t got no mustache—it’s false.” 

44 Oh, he’s crazy,” screamed the loidy—movin’ 
awav. 

44 I ain’t bugs nor nuts,” I says, strugglin’ to 
my feet. 

44 He goes to too many wild movies an’ reads 
too many crazy stories,” says the head bellhop. 

44 Dat guy in 4 416 ’ is a crook, a boigler,” I 
savs. 44 When I went down I seen a bunch of 
jewels on de bed.” 

44 You’re fired,” said de head bellhop. 44 Give 
de lady her walise.” 

All at once de female woman gave a shriek. 
44 This isn’t mine. Where’s my bran’ new soot- 
case? ” she kept repeatin’ like de chorus of a 
jazz song. De head bellhop knocks on de door 
of 44 416,” but it was locked an’ nobody dere. 

44 There’s no one there. The gentleman is 
out. You’re fired,” says the boss bellhop; 
44 take your time and get out.” 

I roamed around for two hours, bein’ afraid 
to face my mudder, an’ not darin’ to show my 

35 






MOSTLY COMICS 


mug in de place where I hangs my hat because 
I ain’t got one of dem movie mudders wot folds 
you in her arms an’ says, “ Never mind, my boy, 
it’s all cornin’ out all right.” My old loidy’s 
liable to give me anodder whack fer losin’ my 
job. 

She’s all right at dat, an’ has always woiked 
hard an’ took care of us when I wuz a kid an’ 
six more of us, but she is got some temper an’ a 
Jack Dempsey swipe, I’ll tell the world. ’Tain’t 
no reason anyhow ’cause a woman’s a mudder 
she’d lose all her spunk an’ act like them weepy 
white-haired dames wot’s in the movies alius 
lookin’ sad an’ peaked an’ sittin’ on a porch. 

Me mudder jawed somethin’ fierce when I got 
home at last, but bein’ as I got a knock on the 
coco, an’ wid roamin’ around an’ everyting I 
keeled over in the house, why she got skairt an’ 
put me to bed. 

But I’m lingerin’ too long. I’ll make de rest 
snappy. De next day de head bellhop an’ a cop 
an’ a little fat sheeny come to de house an’ me 
mudder was for clearin’ out de bunch wid a 
rollin’ pin, tinkin’ I w t uz goin’ to jail, but I was 
took to identify de smooth-faced guy who w r as a 
boigler an’ had stole jewelry from a big firm in 
anudder part of town. He tinks I was spyin’ 
on him so he gives me de love tap an’ changed 
walises an’ skips down de fire escape, it bein’ 
dark. 

It was troo me he got caught for leavin’ a 
ring an’ part of a letter in de walise he left, by 

36 



THE BELLHOP AND THE BOIGLER 


mistake, in his rush to do a marathon from our 
burg in a waitin’ auto wot met him an’ took him 
to a station out in de limits where he wuz to 
ketch a train but got ketched instead. 

On account of its bein’ troo me dey nabbed 

him, de Judge decided I was to have de reward— 

five hundred beans. I near fainted. De Jew, 

de sheeny jeweler, wanted to beat me down to 

two hundred and fifty dollars, me bein’ a kid, an’ 

talked all de wav to de station like a steam- 

•/ 

engine almost cryin’; but fur onct de head bell¬ 
hop was wid me, an’ give me a punch on de quiet 
to hold out, an}Low de Judge give me de money. 
An’ we got de five hundred. 

Me pitcher was in de poiper, an’ Ma an’ de 
neighbors bought out near de whole edition. I 
got me job back on de mourners’ bench at the 
hotel. 

Me mudder has a strong arm an’ a look in her 
eye so she cops two hundred and fifty an’ buys 
a new dress, an’ some clothes fur de kids, puttin’ 
de rest in de bank, but I guess it’s all right fur 
she put it in fur me. An}Low, she took it. 

All jobs is woik, an’ in de course of time I 
may get to be de head bellhop an’ get my head 
swole sure enuff widdout a wallop. Dis position 
is me mudder’s idea of a fine job. Let her 
dream, but maybe I’ll learn to be a deteckatif 
an’ git rewards. 


37 



THE UNTAMED 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Warca-Ziwin, the Sunflower , 
an Indian maiden. 

Haraka Wambdi, a young 
Indian brave. 

Warca-Ziwin speaks. 

I, Warca-Ziwin—Indian maiden, 

Called by my people, The Sunflower, 

Stood on the edge of a great rock, 

The great rock that juts from the mountain; 
Below raged the swift flowing river, 

Above reached the peaks of Waukee 3 T an— 
Waukeeyan, the god of the thunder, 

Who pierces the earth with an arrow. 

Around me were the wind spirits, 

Far away curled the smoke of our camp fires. 
Fifteen snows on the shadow hills distant 
Have come and passed into oblivion 
Since I, a pappoose, small and round-faced, 
Hung from my mother’s broad shoulders, 

Or lay ’mongst the trees’ leafy branches, 
Crooned to rest by the murmuring breezes 
Where the bird-people sang to their nestlings. 
As I stood there in deep meditation 
The days seemed to pass swiftly by me. 

38 




THE UNTAMED 


That clay when I first saw my loved one, 
Haraka-YVambdi, the warrior, 

He came from the hunt as I saw him, 

The young brave, like a bronze carven image, 
Across his horse were the trophies of valor. 
Like a conqueror came he triumphant, 
Young, slim, with the lithe splendid body 
As a spirit placed into the clay mold, 

And sent to earth by the Breath Master. 

At the door of the wigwam I waited, 

His eyes caught my own and I trembled 
With joy and a wondrous contentment. 

He was not as are other vain chieftains, 
Ashamed of the love of a woman, 

Though in secret in days that came after 
We stole away into the forest. 

In secret we whispered our story, 

For a warrior must not love like a woman, 
And I feared lest the others might chide him. 
Haraka-Wambdi adored me; 

Our meetings were secret and sacred. 

We crept through the long, damp, swamp 
grasses, 

And sat at the edge of the river, 

When the sun hung low' at the sky line, 

Or the moon rode high in the heavens, 

When dew sparkled over the woodland 
As the rosy young day the world wakened. 
The story we learned of wood-people, 

Of the squirrel, the chipmunk, and beaver, 
Hand in hand through the forest we wandered. 
Like a deer in my slip of brown buckskin, 

39 



MOSTLY COMICS 


My glossy braids over mj r shoulder, 

Sometimes I ran swiftly before him, 

Fleeter of foot, he would catch me, 

Winding his bright blanket round me, 

And clasping me close to his bosom. 

When called to the chase with the others, 
Around his neck, my charm held him safely, 

A charm made from skin of the rattler. 

All too swiftly passed that gay summer, 

The summer before my sad school days, 

When came a man from the mission, 

To teach us the wa} 7 s of the Pale Face. 

I went with him back to the mission, 

For I was sent to be taught for my people, 
That on m} r return I might teach them, 

The books and the ways of the white man. 

I left the wigwam for houses of plaster, 
Changed my bead work, for long seams of cot¬ 
ton. 

This was the wish of my father, 

Grown old and wear}^ of striving 
To push back the oncoming pale face 
Who crowded our race toward the Westlands. 
“ Perchance we may learn to combat them 
If our youths know their secrets of progress.” 
I went but my heart was not in it. 

My free limbs felt shackled in fetters. 

Home I came when my father lay dying, 
Serene, his spirit passed over the border. 

May mv soul be purged from the lying 
For I whispered of peace for our people, 

Of the kindness and love of the pale face, 

40 



THE UNTAMED 


Who have crowded us into small spaces, 

And taken the lands that were ours. 

As I stood on the edge of the great rock, 
These visions passed before me like shadows, 
Then came he, Haraka-Wambdi, 

“ So here is Sunflower, the traitor,” 

He said and his bright eyes were blazing, 

“ The sham who follows the pale face, 

And prays to the God of the White Man, 
False to the mother who bore her, 

False to me, her once chosen lover. 

Yet you are mine, mine only, my sunflower. 
No other shall have thee and wed thee. 

A thrust of the knife and together 
We plunge below into the river. 

Back into the land of the spirits, 

I swear to the Absolute Power.” 

Then he seized me high on his shoulder, 

As though lifting a sacrifice offering, 

But I laughed aloud toward the Heaven; 

“ I fear not death with my warrior, 

For my soul is free and untrammeled. 

No books of the pale face shall tame me, 

See, I wear my slip of brown buckskin, 

My headdress and moccasins beaded, 

I still am an Indian Maiden. 

My heart beats for my brave, stalwart war- 

* 9 * 

nor. 

Thus I spoke to Haraka, my strong one, 

Fleet of foot he ran over the moorland, 
Holding me high on his shoulder. 

Toward the West and a future together, 

41 



MOSTLY COMICS 


I—Warca-Ziwin, the Sunflower, 

And my lover, my brave Indian warrior, 

My heart sang as birds carol sweetly, 

Where day dawns beyond over the mountain. 
Untamed we rushed toward the Westlands, 
Untamed as creatures unconquered! 


42 



maggie McCarthy and the kids 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Maggie McCarthy. 

Mary O’Sullivan, her friend. 

Scene.—Maggie’s kitchen. 

Maggie extemporizes on Kids. 

Begorry! If any wan wants to demean thim- 
silf workin’ where they’s childer, let ’em go 
ahead. As fer me, I know when to quit, an’ 
plenty is enough. You see it’s loike this, Mary 
O’Sullivan, I’m tellin’ you, but I ain’t sayin’ 
nothin’ to Biddy, thot is I wouldn’t if I saw 
her, her bein’ livin’ out of town fer four years 
since last summer. She used to say childer was 
the workin’ girls’ curse, or somethin’ like that, 
an’ she wouldn’t take a place where they had 
’em. 

I said to her the world would be a bum enough 
place widdout childer in it, but she says “ Shore 
the world’s all right, that’s a big place, but wait 
till you try workin’ in a six-room flat for folks 
that has four kids. Just wait! ” 

“ If the Hivinly Powers hadn’t intinded fur 
kids to be in the world,” says I, “ they wouldn’t 
be here,” an’ she sa}^s, “ Far be it from me to 
criticise Hivin, but I don’t care to be earnin’ 

43 



MOSTLY COMICS 


me board an’ keep playin’ nurse maid an’ cook 
at the same time.” 

But I was sot in me ways, an 5 I took the place 
which I’m tellin’ ye about, fur which may I be 
forgiven fur me foolishness. 

To hear the Missus talk whin she ingaged me, 
thim childer was all sproutin’ wings. The baby 
niver cried, an’ the rist was thot lovin’ they was 
loike bees in a hive, wid the honey of ’em. 

“ Here’s your nice room,” says she to me, 
whin I come in for keeps after engagin’ wid her. 

“ Does it open into this closet? ” I says. 

“ There ain’t no closet,” says she, “ this is the 
room and a fine room it is too,” she says. 

“ Where’s the windy? ” I asks. 

“Up there,” she answers, pointin’ to a bit of 
an openin’ near the ceilin’, that showed a won¬ 
derful piece of a brick wall from where I stood. 

“ That won’t nade bars to kape me from 
escapin’,” I says. “ There must be a fine view 
fur a mountin’ climber from it,” I says, sar¬ 
castic, but she changed the subject. 

“ I lave } T ou to unpack your things,” says she, 
and left me in the little two by four place she 
called a slapin’ room. I sot on the bed and 
belave me, the springs must have been lift out of 
the wires, fur I’d never git bounced out of bed 
turnin’ over, although I might git callouses. 

“ Will,” says I to mesilf, “ I’ll give her a 
tryout. There’s no use gittin’ discouraged 
immejut.” 

Whin I was interduced to the kids, I seen there 

44 



maggie McCarthy and the kids 


was a b’y fourteen. The Saints deliver me from 
livin’ in a household wid a b’y fourteen. He’s 
nayther fit to kill nor to cure. 

44 Hello, Hulda,” says he. 

44 Me name ain’t Hulda,” says I. 

44 Ain’t you a Svenska? ” he asks, grinnin’. 

44 I ain’t thot,” I snaps. 

44 Or a Polack,” he asks agin. 

44 Mind your business,” I says, sore enough, 
44 an’ git out of me kitchen.” 

44 Since when was it your kitchen? I’ll go 
when I get a donut. Come on, Fat an’ Sliver ,’ 1 
an’ he brought in two hoboes like himself. 

44 Thim donuts is fur dinner,” I says. 

44 Not these three,” he answers, grabbin’ thim 
out of a bag. 

44 Git out of here, you an’ your fat frind, 
tredin’ dirt in me kitchen,” I hollers at thim. 

44 Bye bye,” says the fourteen-year-old b’y. 
44 Bye bye, Mary Picklefoot. You’re the pig’s 
knuckles, and whin do you make your next 
pitcher?” he says, but I takes the broom and 
thin they skidoos. 

Thin two little girls come in from school. 
They musta been about sivin an’ eight, an’ 
they stood in the dure an’ giggled an’ whispered, 
an’ whin I spoke to thim, giggled some more. 

44 Say, fer the luve of Mike, what’s the joke? 
Do you think I’m an ixhibition? Come on in,” 
I says, gittin’ mad. 

They ran by me gigglin’ and thin came back. 

44 Where’s Ma? ” they asked. 

45 



MOSTLY COMICS 


“ She wint our fer a while.” 

u I bet she’s wint to the club,” says wan. 

“ Or to play bridge,” says the other. 

“ Hush, you’ll wake the baby an’ your Ma 
said he’d slape till she come back.” 

“ Oh, but it w r on’t. Wait till you hear it cry! 
It just screams and screams,” says the older 
wan. 

“ We want somethin’ to eat,” says the 
younger wan. 

“ Don’t touch thim donuts. They’re fur 
dinner,” I says, puttin’ the bag high up on the 
shilf. 

“ Well, a little piece of bread an’ butter 
thin,” they both says, nearly together. 

“ Here’s some bread, an’ clear out,” I says. 

“ Goody. Goody! ” says the bigger wan. 
“ Baby’s asleep an’ I won’t have to do my 
practicin’.” 

“ Let’s go down an’ see Belle,” said the little 
wan. 

“ Sure,” sa}'s I, “ go to see Belle,” not carin’ 
who Belle was, only anythin’ to git rid of thim. 

“Did Tommy have a donut?” says the big 
wan. “ ’Cause if he did I’m goin’ to have one 
too.” 

“ So’m I,” says the little wan. 

“ If Tommy’s the young divil wid the two 
frinds, he did,” I answers. 

“ Oh, I’ll tell Mamma you called Tommy 
names,” says the little wan. 

“ Go along,” I says, “ or there’ll be more 

46 



maggie McCarthy and the kids 


than names. ’Twill be murder,” and I reached 
for the mop. 

They run out callin’, “ Cross Patch, draw the 
latch. Cross Patch, draw the latch.” 

Belave me, I’d have to go to confission wid 
the thoughts of me toward the whole bunch jist 
thin. 

Thin who should come in but the grocery b’y 
poundin’ at the door. 

“ Look out,” I yells at him. “ Don’t you 
dare walk on my clane floor.” 

“ Say,” says he, “ put on the soft pedal. 
I’ve got a fierce timper meself. Don’t you see 
I have rid hair.” 

“ That’s so, Red Top,” says I. “ The Lord 
wasn’t very kind to you whin he give you red 
hair, you bein’ so ill favored otherwise. Git,” 
and he got. 

Thin the ice man came, an’ he wanted to chin 
a bit—bein’ an Irishman, I was more lanient wid 
him an’ me an’ the ice man had some frinds 
each knew an’ was gittin’ sociable loike, whin 
the baby screamed, an’ I had a time quietin’ him 
whin the department store man come, wid par- 
sels which didn’t amount to much, me lookin’ 
into the hull of thim, and after I had drove 
away a peddler an’ a beggar or two, I was 
wore out whin hersilf come home. An’ I had to 
git dinner. 

Thot was an awful monotonous place, not 
thot there wasn’t noise enough an’ confusion a 
plinty, but noise gits monotonous whin it’s loike 

47 



MOSTLY COMICS 


wan of thim continuous performances at the 
movies an’ if you stayed over an’ over troo thim, 
you’d about go crazy. So it was at thot place, 
continuous. 

The first thing in the mornin’ after brikfast 
an’ himsilf was gone an’ thim kids at school, 
hersilf gits to the ’phone an’ thin such a rag 
chewin’. It was something like this. (Mimics.) 
“ Yes, Gert, it’s Lill. Yes—Wore out—up 
late—uh-huh—a spiffy new vilvit—princiss an’ 
satin pumps. No—not this afternoon—dancin’ 
school for the childer—well—perhaps I can ar¬ 
range it.” An’ she looks around cautious, me 
knowin’ she was movin’ to ask me to stay in, but 
I says to mesilf—nothin’ doin’ old girl. Then 
she goes on. “ Who, Carrie did you say?—She 
makes me tired. That isn’t real Rooshian sable 
—I should say not. She couldn’t afford it— 
No—lost money—I heard so—Yeah—meet you 
for tea—that is—er—well, lots to tell you— 
See if I can get away—Yeah—Bye bye.” 

Thin she’d call the grocery an’ the dress¬ 
maker. Mr. Idison or Mr. Bell, or whoiver in- 
vinted the tiliphone had her lifelong grati- 
tood. 

Sometimes she got into a fight wid de operator 
or some other dame on the line, and I bit 
the telephone girl hopes there’s no ’phones in 
Hivin. 

And the cuteness of her, Mary O’Sullivan, 
tryin’ to bluff me whin she wants to kape a date 
for tay wid Gert, as she calls her, sayin’ she 

48 






maggie McCarthy and the kids 


had a sick frind at the hospital, her not knowin’ 
I’m listnin’ behint the dure all the time whin she 
talks at the ’phone. 

Well, things goes along so-so for a wake or 
two, and thin her mother comes from Tolado or 
Pontiak or some place, to visit her, an’ thin we 
had one of thim grand barrages or machane gun 
attacks or whatever they call thim in the army. 
She tried to run the whole house, me included, 
but I quits cold. Says I, the kids is bad enough, 
an’ I tould the ould hin to kape out of me 
kitchen an’ she an’ I near come to blows. 

She says I was makin’ faces at her an’ I says 
she didn’t have to make faces at me, she havin’ 
wan of thim kind like a comic valentine, any- 
wav. 

So I quit, an’ now I’m livin’ wid deaf mutes 
who talks on their fingers an’ laves instructions 
in writin’ an’ Joe’s the polaceman on this bate 
an’ drops in wanst in a while. 

Oh, must you go, Mary O’Sullivan? I’ll jist 
walk out a bit wid you. It’s some toime before 
dinner an’ the park is nice this toime of the year. 
Wait till I git me hat—ain’t this air foine?— 
the Spring is here wid the grandness of it all. 

Fur the luve of Mike, spake of Angels, here 
comes Biddy, wheelin’ a baby carriage. She 
must have changed her mind about kids. Well, 
Biddy, me darlin’, I thought you was livin’ miles 
away. 

Back agin? Married? An’ this is your 
kid? An’ you ravin’ against childer, always! 

49 




MOSTLY COMICS 


This wan is different? Thot’s what they all 
say. Will wonders nivir sase? 

For me fur the prisint, kids is just kids, an’ 
the manin’ is not complimentary. 


60 



THE CONQUEST 

A Monologue of the Days of Queen 
Elizabeth of England 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Agnes, a young girl , Lord Radcliffe’s niece. 

Walter, a lad of fourteen. Lord Radcliffe’s 
nephew. 

Diana, the greyhound. 

Hassan, the sparrow-hawk used in hunting. 

Scene.— The Grounds of the Castle of Lord 

Radcliffe. 

Agnes, a lively young girl, talks. 

Down, down, Diana! I like thee much but 
thou must not soil my new gown. See, Hassan, 
my sparrow-hawk is jealous. He would peck 
at thee. There, there, Hassan. This is Diana, 
my gre} 7 hound. She will not hurt thee. She is 
thy good friend, I am sure, and will not usurp 
thy place in the hunt for she likes not hunting 
and such rough sports. Ah, here comes my 

[Note. The costume of Agnes is a full gathered skirt 
of white or colored satin, reaching almost to the floor, 
tight zvaist, full sleeves, slashed with a contrasting color 
set in the slashes; a pretty head dress, after the manner 
of Marie Stuart, and a wide ruff about the neck . Of 
course, the costume is optional .] 

51 



MOSTLY COMICS 


brother, Walter. See how quickly she races 
to meet him. 

Why, Walter, lad, thou art at fever heat with 
thy racing and romping about. Thou wilt be 
ill, and then would I be sad indeed without my 
little companion. Let us have no more of ill¬ 
ness. Hassan has been moping all day on his 
perch in the mews and so I brought him hither. 
See how he ruffles his feathers. He likes not 
Diana’s affection for me. 

Ah, Hassan ( Holds out her arm and speaks 
as though to the bird perched on her wrist.) as 
miserable as thou art, I would I were in thy 
place. ( Wipes her eyes.) Yes, Walter, dear, 
I am very sad. We will place Hassan upon this 
perch I brought thither. Then I will tell thee 
what hath sorely grieved and angered me. 
(Makes a move as though placing the bird on 
the perch.) 

Sit down beside me on this garden seat. 
Though thou art but a child thou hast been my 
sweet companion and I will tell thee the cause of 
my sadness. ( She sits down.) Yes, dearest, 
I know thou didst think I was as happy as the 
birds that sing the livelong day. So was I 
until but a fortnight hence. ( Speaks angrily , 
tapping her foot.) To be portioned off like a 
bit of merchandise to a man one never saw, and 
that, too, a great awkward Scottish creature! 
’Tis beyond bearing! (Wipes her eyes.) 

Who hath dared do this? Thou wilt defend 
me? Ah, dearest; I know thou art brave and 

52 



THE CONQUEST 


jet thou art not a man grown though even as 
a boy I know thy prowess and fearlessness. 
Wert thou twice thy years thou couldst do 
naught in this matter. ’Tis my uncle’s will and 
thou knowest the liadcliffe will and pride. 
Thou and I are but clay in his hands. He is 
kind in all but this, but he is determined I shall 
wed that loutish Archie MacDonald, the nephew 
and heir of Lord Lambourne, whose estate lies 
next to ours. A pretty pass that I must wed 
to join these two estates else will my uncle dis¬ 
inherit me. For this I care not for myself but 
for thee. He hath declared that thou, too, 
shall not inherit aught, if I am stubborn as he 
calls it. 

Oh, I know what thou wouldst say—do not 
mind thee—but thou art young and when older 
grown should not be deprived of thy lawful 
rights. What say you? Is this Archie Mac¬ 
Donald very ugly? How should I know—I 
have never seen him! But I can guess just 
how he looks. Is not Lord Lambourne a homely 
old man, with red hair mixed with gray, and a 
stubbly beard, and is not Archie MacDonald his 
nephew? What more need you to make a pic¬ 
ture? He is young and perchance not bearded 
but I feel sure he is a clownish creature. 

Let me begin at the beginning. Thou know¬ 
est Uncle and I have but recently returned from 
London Town whence we went to the fete day 
of the Queen. Would that highwaymen had 
run away with me on the rough and tedious 

53 




MOSTLY COMICS 


roads that lead thither! Would that there had 
been no link boys to guide us through the 
crooked narrow streets or that we had been 
waylaid—would—but what use my vain re¬ 
grets? I will speak of more cheerful things. I 
have not told thee of the wide hall and the great 
fireplace, of the tapestries and wondrous armor 
of Sir Hugh and Lady Judith Martingale and 
the splendid feast they prepared for us. 
“ Light of my eyes ” she called me, for she is a 
lady of such a kindly way and smile, thou 
wouldst love her, Walter dear. 

I have not told thee of the stir in London 
Town—of the great procession and the crowds 
in the streets, the travelling showmen, burghers, 
gentlemen in velvets, feathers and chains of gold 
and silver, of the sea of faces peering from the 
casements and balconies and the excitement in 
the streets. How I loved the crowds and the 
noise and I insisted upon mingling with them, 
that was half the sport, so Lady Martingale, 
Sir Hugh and our uncle as well as a serving man 
went with me. 

Men stood in front of the shops, calling their 
wares, and I wanted to make a purchase at every 
corner. Such a wondrous procession, Walter 
dear, (Rises excitedly.) tall yeomen on foot 
carrying halberds, soldiers on horseback with 
glittering spears, courtiers gay in jewels and 
velvet, beautiful dames splendent as the sun and 
oh, in the midst the Queen in a gorgeous gown 
and velvet cloak much bejeweled, on a horse of 

54 



THE CONQUEST 


magnificent proportions. She is not pretty yet 
she hath a queenly air. I told Lady Judith she 
herself was far prettier than the Queen, but 
she clapped her hand about my mouth and said 
laughingly, “ Breathe not such treason.” Then 
all of a sudden, Walter dear, to my dismay I 
found myself quite separated from Lady Judith, 
pinned and hemmed in by the crowd. Running 
hither and thither in my fear, I turned into a 
close, narrow street that seemed somewhat 
empty, and from an inn near by came the sound 
of carousal. Uncertain what to do, I stood, 
when three swaggering roysterers came out of 
the inn and they suddenly blocked my way. 
One pulled aside the hood of my cape which I 
had drawn about my face, another made a low 
bow and said, “ Marry, a lovely one, I vow. 
What kindly zephyr hath wafted thee to my 
arms, my sweet? ” 

Trying to assume a bold air, though my heart 
was beating wildly, I cried, “ Unhand me, 
sirrah! For shame to attack a helpless maiden! 
Come no nearer.” And I tried to look brave 
like this. (Assumes an attitude.) The third 
one made as though to put his arm about me, 
but I jumped to one side. “Ho! Ho! A 
haughty wench, with the airs of a court dame,” 
he said, mockingly. “ If thou art so grand a 
maiden why art thou running about alone? 
Where is thy protector? ” 

“ Here,” cried a voice behind me, and Walter, 
as I live, before the scoundrel had time to turn 

55 



MOSTLY COMICS 


he was hurled in a heap against the doorway. 
“ Now, knaves, I am ready for you, singly or 
all together,” cried the same voice. “ Touch 
but a hair of this maiden’s head and I’ll run you 
through like three roasts on a spit.” Oh, 
Walter, lad, ’twas a man, young, big and brave, 
and how he fought and ousted the three ruffians 
one by one until they slunk away, one wounded 
and the others carrying him to the inn! 

Then did my rescuer offer me his arm. I was 
trembling like a leaf but I glanced at him shyly. 
Dearest brother, he was young with a ruddy 
skin and a crop of sandy curls and he was so 
big and brave. When I found my tongue, I 
told him about my friends and of how I had 
come to London Town with my uncle and just 
then we ran into Lady Judith’s serving man, 
who said they had all scattered in different direc¬ 
tions to seek me and that Lord Radcliffe, my 
uncle, and the rest were in much concern about 
me. (Sits down upon the bench.) 

Though I asked my brave gallant to come 
with me and meet my uncle, he said as I now 
was in safe hands he would take his departure 
and call in proper season if I would so gra¬ 
ciously permit. His bow was low and sweeping, 
and dearest brother, I have not been able to 
think of any one since then but my brave knight. 
Alas, I am unfortunate, indeed, to meet so sweet 
a gentleman and all too late. (Wipes her eyes.) 

This is mv story, dearest brother, and ’tis 
why I am sad. Mv heart hath turned to my 

56 



THE CONQUEST 


brave young rescuer and yet must I be tied to 
an awkward creature. I know full well how 
he looks, this Archie MacDonald, for is not 
Lord Lambourne, his uncle, big and ugly with 
a gruff manner that would frighten one almost 
into a faint? To-day they come to visit my 
uncle, and to formally ask my hand in marriage 
—this Scotchman and his uncle. ’Tis little 
wonder my heart is heavy. 

Hark! There is the sound of horses’ hoofs. 
They are coming. Come, let us run into the 
castle. The time when I meet this creature will 
be all too soon. {Moves as though to enter the 
castle doors.) Na}^, nay, Walter, I will not 
peep through the casement. I shall see him 
soon enough. What say you? A young, hand¬ 
some man rides beside Lord Lambourne? 
Stalwart and noble? Nay, it cannot be true. 
Wait, Walter, let me look. {Speaks excitedly.) 
He hath removed his plumed hat and he hath a 
crop of sandy curls. Walter, dearest brother, 
can I believe mine eyes? {Speaks excitedly.) 
It is—It is he! My rescuer!—Can this really, 
truly be? It is indeed my brave knight of 
London Town! Sh—Walter! Away from this 
window! Our uncle enters. {Assumes a show 
of demure calmness.) 

What sayest thou, Uncle dearest? Lord 
Lambourne and his nephew, Archie MacDonald, 
await below? What sayest thou? I must bend 
to thy will? Thou wilt have no airs? Nor 
silly pouting? {Makes a curtsey.) Nay, Uncle, 

57 





MOSTLY COMICS 


I have reconsidered since thou didst speak to me 
a fortnight since. I am ready to obey thee and 
marry Archie MacDonald, for, dear Uncle, I am 
sure thou knowest best. (Curtseys again.) 


58 



THE CHORUS GIRL SAYS SOMETHING 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

The Chorus Girl. 

Her Friend. 

Scene.— The dressing room hack of the stage. 

The Chorus Girl grouches. 

It gives me a pain all this here bunk about 
chorus girls. Anybody’d think the minute you 
hook up with a measly chorus you was hittin’ 
about 75 per hour in one of them auto racers 
all the time. 

Where’s all them champagne baths and 
drinks of melted pearls and livin’ at the Com¬ 
modore? Me and Effie Moran (only her stage 
name is Dimples Gray—wouldn’t that get your 
nanny?)—we lives so far from the Biltmore and 
them high-toned dumps that it would take up 
half a day to get to ’em from our little two by 
four room up near the roof in an old timer three 
story and basement. 

We washes out our stockings and ninety- 
eight cent silk shirts in a bowl and eats at a 
Greek palace with counter stools or a Ching 
Chop Suev joint or else when the old fairy what 
condescends to rent us a room (say, her face 
ought to get her a job without grease paint in 

69 





MOSTLY COMICS 


one of them sunshine comics) ain’t around, we 
smuggles in a gas plate and makes coffee and 
fries eggs. 

This here pipe dream about stage door 
Johnnies, too, where do they get all that stuff? 
A few half-baked clerks or college chumps, or 
an old century plant with a head like a billiard 
ball, who thinks he’s still in rompers runnin’ 
round with a kiddie kar, is all anybody ever sees 
near the stage door—and not near, neither, be¬ 
cause our door man is about six feet and weighs 
three hundred. 

I ain’t such a bad looker and neither is Effie 
and she’s got honest to goodness dimples, but 
the men ain’t standin’ in line to treat us jazz 
babies, or to play sheik and grab us onto a horse 
and kidnap us like what’s doin’ in the movies. 
Ain’t it queer how the people fall fur the hero 
gettin’ away from a whole army with pistols 
and swords and runnin’ up a mountain or swim- 
min’ a ocean and savin’ a girl to be his bride and 
do his washin’ and mend his socks? 

They alway-s stop the pitcher at the weddin’ 
before the family fightin’ begins. You see ’em 
embracin’ in the moonlight an’ sunlight and in 
the middle of a snowstorm, and everybody sits 
up thrilled like, though anybody knows there 
ain’t no men like that in real life. They^ ain’t 
near so affectionate nor near so strong. 

Dimples says I’m soured on life at nineteen. 
That’s the age I give the manager, but I’m 
twenty-three, which is a small lie compared with 

60 



THE CHORUS GIRL SAYS SOMETHING 


some in our chorus, who says they is twenty- 
five and will never see thirty-five again. 

But no woman can tell the truth when it comes 
to age if they can get by and be small and thin 
and you can’t blame ’em when they have a livin’ 
to make and maybe have two or three kids to 
support, bein’ hooked up in the holy bonds of 
matermony with a dumbell who lets ’em earn the 
daily bread. 

Me and Dimples ain’t in a broadway show 
but in a jazz musical revue what’s goin’ so well 
they’re takin’ two shows on the road; but thank 
heavens we’re with the main show and stayin’ 
right here in the big burg. 

But these here fairy tales about chorus girls 
—say we have to get to the theatre about an 
hour before the show and we have two shows a 
day and in the dressin’ rooms we sew, waitin’ for 
our turn which closes the bill and when it’s goin’ 
on we’re so busy changin’ between songs and 
lines we can’t get a breath. 

It’s workin’ like bein’ a clerk or a stenog, and 
if you make a Broadway show it’s harder work. 
Them swell clothes that’s in the show belongs 
to the manager and ain’t no more the show girls’ 
than them glad rags the haughty dames wear in 
the stores what’s models, belongs to them. 

I came from the country because I got sick of 
pigs and cows and work and all the longin’ they 
have in the movies for the apple blossoms and 
the hired man w 7 hat looks like a gentleman 
clothes model, only in overalls and plays the 

61 



MOSTLY COMICS 


harmonicum, is all mush, too. Our hired man 
was a sight any time and in the winter let 
his whiskers grow ’til they looked like a hay¬ 
stack. 

Whenever I see a movie with a girl strugglin’ 
home through the snow, doin’ the weeps, I laughs 
myself sick because our house would freeze you 
stiff when it snowed and blowed and even my 
little old room here is fairly comfortable. 

When I landed in town I got a job as a wait¬ 
ress but as I say I got hooked up with a show, 
bein’ not so short on good looks, if I do say it 
as shouldn’t, through Dimples who used to eat 
at our place, and we took to each other fine. 
One of the dames in our show, who hates her¬ 
self like a baby hates his bottle, was airin’ her 
views and tellin’ her conquests and how she 
worked meals off of easy marks by pickin’ out 
some guy in the audience and smilin’ at him. 
I didn’t tell nobody, but tried her game one day 
only it was when I had bumped into a door in 
the dressin’ room and knocked out a tooth, but 
I had to go on and hot water kept my lip from 
swellin’. You never get let off anyhow unless 
you’re dead and can’t stand up. When I was 
dancin’ I forgot about the tooth, and all at 
once I remembered the dame’s advice, and smiled 
at a bird I picked out and he smiled back. We 
got real chummy about the end of the show, and 
sure enough he was waitin’ at the corner of the 
alley. I smiled again just for the fun of the 
thing. He didn’t look like much of a catch, but 

62 



THE CHORUS GIRL SAYS SOMETHING 


maybe was good for a swell feed, and I was short 
that week. 

“ I hope you don’t think I’m fresh, but would 
you mind having a bite with me? ” he says. I 
says, “ Nothin’ is the matter with my appetite,” 
seein’ a real meal in view. Where do you think 
he took me? To a waffle shop, and we had 
waffles and coffee. He was the devilish thing— 
a regular little cut-up. Then he give me his 
card, and it said: 

“ Warren Melrose, 

Dentist. 

Teeth extracted without pain. All 
kinds of dental work at reasonable 
rates. False Teeth $5 a set.” 

He was one of them advertising teeth pullers. 

“Say, you’re a real sport, ain’t you?” I 
says, sarcastic. 

“ I saw your tooth was out, and I thought 
you might like a good job cheap,” he says. 

“ You’re a busy little worker,” I says, “ and 
you sure can spend your loose cash for feed,” I 
says, lookin’ at the waffles. “ Don’t give the 
waiter more’n half a dollar,” I adds, but it 
passed clear over him like a airship over a sky¬ 
scraper. 

The next stage door Johnny I struck was 
when I slipped on a bangle that fell off one of 
the girls’ skirts, and was jawed somethin’ scan¬ 
dalous by the manager after the show, and near 
lost my job. That kept me a little late and 

63 



MOSTLY COMICS 


made me so sore inside I forgot my sprain, which 
was nothin’ much, but when I went out of the 
stage door there was a mutt standin’ there, in a 
light belted coat, and wearin’ one of them 
Charlie Chapman mustaches. 

44 Who are you? ” I asks, 44 the new come¬ 
dian? ” 

44 Pardon me,” he says, liftin’ his hat, 44 I saw 
your unfortunate accident, and am so sorry.” 

44 ’Tain’t hurtin’ you,” I says; 44 what are you 
doin’ here? I didn’t smile at you.” 

44 Now, girlie,” he began- 

44 Don’t girlie me,” I says, 44 unhand me,” but 
he really never touched me. 

44 You’re about as friendly as a polar bear,” 
he says, grinning kind of ape-like. 

44 I want to go home and nurse my ankle,” I 
sa} r s, 44 and I got a regular Jack Dempsey reach 
and I ain’t hungry for waffles,” I adds, 
44 skip.” 

44 How about ham and eggs ? ” he asks, 44 and 
a piece of pie, right across the street at the 
Greek joint? ” 

44 Them classy places makes me nervous,” I 
sneers, 44 with the grand service, and swell 
waiters and full orchestra and everything. Run 
right along, and put your little dollar in the 
bank to-morrow.” 

44 Well, at least take my card,” he savs ; 44 you 
see life is uncertain and I carry a great line of 
accident and life insurance,” he says, handin’ 
me his card: 


64 




THE CHORUS GIRL SAYS SOMETHING 


“ Isaac Einstein, 

Life Insurance Agent.” 

“Aw, chase yourself—fade away, and make it 
a swift exit,” I says, my ankle hurtin’ and my 
feelin’s bein’ sorer without havin’ to look at his 
face. 

That’s why I sa 3 's these stage door Johnnies 
simply ain’t. It’s a pipe dream and press agent 
dope. Them reformers comes around sometimes, 
old maids, and fat old ladies, and men with 
bunches of alfalfa on their chins. Why don’t 
they go to the bathing beaches where they don’t 
have enough clothes on to make a humming 
bird’s sash, some of ’em? Most show girls is 
regular esquimos beside them beach hounds. 

Oh, it’s a gay life if you don’t weaken—this 
here chorus girls’ riotous livin’—I don’t think, 
about as wild as one of them old-fashioned sewin’ 
bees my mother used to tell about where a girl 
got kissed every time they found a red ear, and 
square dances was a riot enough to call a patrol. 

Let me slip you a little info! If some of them 
folks what’s worryin’ about us would watch 
theirselves, it would be better. Real life like 
what you see in the movies, ain’t. If you think 
dancin’ in a chorus ain’t earnin’ your livin’ let 
some of them fat reformers try it and I’ve said 
something—and a whole mouthful, I’m tellin’ 
you. 


65 



TWO STRAWS AND A BOTTLE OF POP 


When my chum gets a bottle of pop, 
With two straws sticking in it, 
He’s so much bigger than I am 
I hardly can begin it, 

When the pop is half way gone, 

I wish so much my puller 
Was strong as his, or else they’d fill 
Those bottles ’way up fuller. 

I’ll buy some pop when I get rich, 
And am ever so much taller, 

But you bet I’ll never pull too hard 
With a kid that’s so much smaller. 


66 


THE WHIP HAND 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Jack Nichols, a young clerk. 

Wilbur Preston, the junior partner . 

Scene. —The office of Haynes and Preston , a 
commission firm on the Board of Trade. 
Several weeks after a recent failure. 

Jack Nichols talks and springs a surprise. 

Mr. Preston, I am here, as you see. I under¬ 
stand you sent for me. Is that correct? Oh, 
close the door? Certainly, although I think the 
stenographer in the outer office has gone for 
lunch and Barbour is down “ On Change.” We 
are alone, it seems. What are people sa3ung of 
the failure? 

To tell the truth, they are dissatisfied with 
the settlement. As I am employed by you, I 
scarcely like to say. Speak freely? Shall I? 
You see, fifty cents on the dollar didn’t make 
exactly a hit, on the Board. 

They didn’t suspect anything? What could 
they suspect? That something was held out? 
Possibly not, Mr. Preston. There were rumors, 

though-Why—er—you really want to 

know? Well, then, that you had let your part¬ 
ner stand in the breach and shoulder the whole 
failure. 


67 






MOSTLY COMICS 


You needn’t look at me like that. I haven’t 
said anything. The matter so far is safe with 
me. You sent for me—I can guess why—to give 
back the box in the vault that you took in my 
name. It was rather a long chance to take 
with any young fellow, to trust to his honesty 
and turn fifty thousand dollars in cash over to 
him—to be held until after a certain failure that 
hadn’t happened. 

Oh, don’t get excited!—You see I rather sus¬ 
pected there was more than you told me, and to¬ 
day I looked. 

Hold on! Don’t try to touch me!—The 
money’s there, every cent of it. 

I’m young and I haven’t anything but my 
salary, but I am on the level. It’s rather odd, 
isn’t it, that you expect other people to be 
square? 

Wasn’t it in the firm’s agreement that the 
partners stand side by side in case of failure? 
Old man Haynes stood the brunt alone. 

Keep cool! Keep cool, Mr. Preston! I’m not 
impudent. I’m just getting down to brass 
tacks, and I have the whip hand. It would be 
better to hold your temper. I am going to tell 
you a few plain facts. 

I don’t intend to return that money. 

(Rises and leans against the table.) 

There! Sit down. It won’t do you any 
good to try to open that drawer, because I’m 
leaning against it. You might have a gun in it, 

68 




THE WHIP HAND 


and I don’t want to be shot. It’s rather a 
messy death. 

You call me a traitor. Well, that’s hardly 
the word. I was the goat because I was young. 
You thought you could put it all over me, and 
you did for a while. 

I believed your story that the box in the 
vault contained some valuables of your wife’s, 
that some relatives were after. You must have 
anticipated the failure, Mr. Preston, and put 
the cold cash out of the way. It is rumored 
that you are arranging to go into business under 
a new firm name with a new partner. 

Old man Haynes was old and maybe had been 
in the swim too long. Anyhow, he quit and took 
to his bed with the shame of the failure. 

No use walking up and down. I’ll light a 
cigarette, if you don’t mind. 

Ordinarily I wouldn’t smoke in office hours 
before my employer, but you see the cases are 
reversed—now I am the capitalist. 

Don’t come too near. I happen to have a 
gun in my pocket, and it might go off. Sit 
down! There, that’s better, because I have 
some more news. 

Thief? Oh, your words are very rough, Mr. 
Preston—really very rough. When you give a 
man money, cold hard cash, and put it into a 
box in his name, who is going to prove it is 
yours, and then in what an ugly dilemma that 
puts }^ou, as one of the firm that failed and 
declared himself insolvent. Rawther nawsty, 

69 





MOSTLY COMICS 


what? As our English friends say. Not a 
pretty situation, eh? 

I’m rather stupid and inclined to be honest 
(maybe I’ll improve in time) so I didn’t suspect 
until the rumors grew somewhat numerous. 

Last night old man Haynes got out of a sick 
bed and killed himself. You wince a little, in 
spite of your effort to appear calm. It must 
have been, after all, a most uncomfortable morn¬ 
ing for you, after you saw the papers. The old 
man has always been able to look his fellow men 
in the face and he brooded over this settlement 
and what he suspected until he ended it all. 

I went this morning and looked into the box 
at the vault and the whole thing was as plain as 
day—just why you had taken out the box in 
my name, and made me the Angora, as it were. 

Then I went out to see Jessie Havnes. She 
and I happen to be engaged. I asked her to 
marry me after the failure when her money was 
gone and I couldn’t be accused of being a for¬ 
tune hunter. 

Let me tell you our story. It’s rather inter¬ 
esting. She was out motoring, and her hat blew 
off, and I caught and returned it. She is 
deucedly good-looking. That was the begin¬ 
ning, and I was desperately in love, but you see 
she was a rich girl. 

You are getting nervous? Why walk up and 
down? What did you say? This silly love 
affair does not interest vou, in the least? I’m 
surprised; young love is always so charming, 

70 



THE WHIP HAND 


Mr. Preston. Don’t you know how the poets 
rave about Spring and Love and the young 
man’s fancy, and all the rest of that dope? 

I trust business has not made you callous to 
the finer things of life. Possibly our particular 
case may seem more important to you, in time. 

Here—here—you can’t get by to lock that 
door. I’m somewhat of an athlete—used to 
play on our football team at Princeton, and I 
try to keep in trim. Play golf out at the park, 
bowl a little and tennis is a crack-a-jack game 
for the muscles. 

Don’t look so bored, Mr. Preston. Getting 
tired of the interview? Well, you sought it— 
it was coming in time—in fact, I intended to see 
you to-day, but I’ve been busy staving off some 
inquiring reporters—oh, no, don’t jump—they 
don’t know about the money—yet. It was 
just the minor fact of the old man’s suicide that 
held the present interest. 

Let’s see—where was I? Oh, yes—I ’phoned 
Jessie, and in spite of her sorrow, she was will¬ 
ing to see me. I went out to the house after I 
had made the discovery and I told her about 
the money, rather clumsily, I’m afraid, as I 
didn’t mean to tell her quite so soon, as she was 
in such deep trouble, but women are darned 
clever about guessing—anyhow, the story came 
out. 

She is very bitter, and to exonerate her Dad 
she insists on the full amount—every dollar 
being paid to the creditors. That is what we 

71 







MOSTLY COMICS 


are going to do. You see, I speak as a capital¬ 
ist, Mr. Preston. Calm yourself, do! I’ll give 
you time to get out of town before the story 
breaks. 

Don’t try to open that drawer. I locked it 
while you were pacing the floor, like a caged 
lion or maybe it would be more appropriate to 
say jackal. 

Well,—Good-bye—I’m resigning to save being 
fired, and anyhow there isn’t a firm any more. 
Also, I have a job at a raise of twenty dollars 
a week. 

A stall? Oh, no, I don’t intend to keep the 

money. Keep in touch with the Board of 

Trade news and I’ll try to keep it out of the 

papers, although you don’t deserve it, my 

former employer. I rather wondered when I 

thought it all over that you didn’t turn this 

over to 3^our wife, but I have heard, do pardon 

me for intruding upon your domestic relations, 

that the said relations were somewhat strained 

and you didn’t dare risk it for fear }mu might 

not get the cash again. Fate plays strange 

pranks, don’t you think? Conscience makes 

cowards of us all or words to that effect. My! 

•/ 

how you glare at me, Mr. Preston. I almost 
believe if vou had the chance we’d have a little 
murder scene staged right here in the office. 
Tut! Tut! 

I’ll just back to the door. My congratula¬ 
tions. It must be so satisfactory to feel you 
have done the right thing by your creditors. 

72 





THE WHIP HAND 


We’ll be decent with you and say it’s Jessie’s 
private fortune that she’s turning in to save her 
father’s pride and honor. 

The old man made that money for you, every 
dollar. He put up all the money when you 
started in business. I learned that some time 
ago, and you know it’s true. Rather a dirty 
deal you gave the old fellow, Preston, don’t you 
think ? 

I’ll just back to the door and keep you in 
sight. My hand is on my revolver, in this 
pocket. A hold up? Sure, a pippin of a one 
and in a good cause. 

Better luck when you fail again, and bye! 
bye! 

> ' 


73 



IN ALOHA LAND 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Thea, a maiden of Hawaii. 

Mrs. Leslie, an American lady , lately settled 
in the Islands. 

Scene.—The Lanai, the side veranda of a 

bungalow in the outskirts of Honolulu . 

Thea tells her story. 

You ask why I am sad, dear friend? My 
dark eyes hold a story, say you? I thought 
to say nought of it, and yet you have been very 
kind, very gracious. I believe you ask only in 
love—not to be curious. Since you came to 
live on our Hawaiian Islands I have not been so 
alone. I care not for tourists. Perhaps it is 
my dual nature. My father was an English¬ 
man, my mother a native woman. She called 
me Huiha, but my father gave me another name, 
Dorothea. I call myself Thea—that I like the 
best. He always called me that—my father. 

Then later came another—the one who comes 
not—one, dear Mrs. Leslie, from your own land 
of America. 

I will begin at the beginning, nestling here 
upon the couch in your lanai with the singing 
birds about me; and just you and I to hear what 
I will tell. 


74 






IN ALOHA LAND 


My father himself taught me from the books 
of his people. He was a scholar and a gentle¬ 
man. My mother liked best her own ways. 
She was a creature of the tropics, untamed and 
free—yet worshipping my father as her lord and 
master, wearing the loose slip of tapa cloth and 
eating the native poi, which he despised though 
he liked the tropical fruits, the papaias, the 
mangoes, and he was fond of yams, and per¬ 
chance liked too well the drink made from the 
awa root. 

Though they differed much, they loved each 
other unto death. 

’Twas first he saw her when she was wading 
slowly toward the reef, with the older women, 
hunting small shell fish, which they snared in 
nets. She turned and laughed at him as he 
stood upon the beach, shaking her long black 
hair and catching his heart within the strands. 
Often do I think of her—the picture comes as 
she sat weaving mats from the inner bark of the 
mulberry tree and prepared our food, wrapping 
it in ti leaves and cooking in covered heated pits 
of earth. 

Though she prayed to her Gods, and he to 
* the one God, yet they were true lovers, and 
when he died, she mourned until her soul sought 
his and she too passed away to the unknown 
land, beyond the earth, within a year of his pass¬ 
ing. 

I was but fifteen—and left alone with the 
little rambling garden and ramshackle house, 

75 





MOSTLY COMICS 


that lies there just beyond your home. Yet it 
is home to me, and I love it. 

I cared not what was mine if they were gone, 
my heart was so sad. Then he came, my big 
American, my lord, for I too called my dear one 
by that name. 

Perchance it shocks you, you from a land 
where women rule, but I loved to think of him 
that way, and all the books from which my 
father taught me changed me not one whit. 

’Twas on the beach at Waikiki he lay 
stretched in the sand, my big American, lying at 
full length, away from the rest, and I who like 
not tourists came running swiftly toward the 
silence apart from the bathers, and almost ran 
upon him. 

He half rose, looking like a young god in the 
moonlight. 

“Ah!” he cried, “ ’tis a moon sprite!” for 
I wore native dress of white with flowers in my 
hair. It was the dress I loved the best. 

“ When I run away to be in tune with the 
moon, she sends me one of her fairies.” 

“ ’Tis only Thea, my lord,” I said, pretend¬ 
ing great calmness, yet my pulses beat wildly. 

“ Thea, the moon sprite I will call you. Sit 
down beside me,” he said, “ I am lonely.” 

“ And yet you ran away from the others,” 
I answered, pointing toward the bathers. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ From cattle herding together, but I do not 
run from moon sprites.” 

76 



IN ALOHA LAND 


“ You are malinini,” I said, quickly. 

“ Why call me names ? ” he laughed. 

“No, I call you not names,” I said. “ That 
means newcomer.” 

“ Ah, that sounds less aggressive,” he said. 
“ Come, sit down, I pray you, pretty one. Do 
not be afraid of me. I would not hurt a hair 
of your lovely head. I need you, little maiden, 
for my heart is heavy. Away across the sea 
there is a girl who promised to be my wife. 
To-day came a letter from her. She had wearied 
of waiting and married another—a man of 
wealth who could give her all the wonderful 
things my love could not purchase. I have 
thought all day it would be better to end it 
all.” 


“To die? No, no, my lord, not that!” I 
cried. “ I saw T my father and my mother die. 
Not that! ” 

“ You call me lord, little one? ” 

“ The word slipped,” I replied. “ Forgive 
the familiarity. My mother called my father 
that. She was a native. He of English 
birth.” 

“ Who cares whether I live or die? ” he asked 
with gloom and sadness in his tone. 

“ I should care, I think,” I answered. “ You 
are big and strong and yet gentle. But—I am 
too bold.” 

Too bold—you tender, winsome thing. 
Thus is the violet bold, or the dainty humming 
bird.” This he said to me, my big American. 

77 



MOSTLY COMICS 


This was the beginning of our friendship, dear 
Mrs. Leslie. Oh, wonderful, enchanted days! 
Together we wandered through the long matted 
grasses or sat beneath the shade of thick gnarled 
trees. Together we went spinning along the 
white winding coral-powdered road, palm 
bordered, with the riot of foliage in the jungle 
beyond. 

We bathed in the sapphire waters, away from 
the other bathers and the green tiers of the 
hotels, or lay in the sand watching the rosy 
coral reefs and the melting opal tints of land 
and sea. 

From afar came the calls of the surf bather.' 
in their black and yellow dugouts, but we were 
happiest alone. My lord liked me best in my 
native dress, with flowers in my hair. 

Into some colorful retreat we wandered, where 
showering ferns and brilliant flowering vines, or 
the glor}^ of the flame tree made all seem like 
fairy land. Kono, the mild south wind, lulled 
us to dreaminess and I would softly strum the 
ukulele calling out some plaintive strain. 

“ You are a witch, my Thea,” he said to me. 
“ And you have given me new life and hope. I 
want you to be my wife.” 

Oh friend, oh dear Mrs. Leslie, how sweet were 
his words to me, for I adored him! 

Where is he now, dear friend, you ask? That 
is why I grieve. 

One day news came that his father was ill 
unto death, in your land across the sea, and he, 

78 



IN ALOHA LAND 


my lord, had to go away. I wept and clung 
about his neck. 

“ You will never return, my lord,” I said. 

“Not return! Why, Thea, my loved one! 
You are my mate-woman. I will come to you as 
soon as I may, dear one,” he said, holding me 
to his heart. 

“Wait,” I said. “Here is a shell. Know 
you the story of the singing shell, that was 
guarded by watchmen from hill to hill and yet 
stolen from the temple? Only did the little shell 
sing when it came to its own again. 

“ Sing into this shell and it will hold the voice 
of my beloved.” So he sang into the shell and 
gave it to me. 

“ When I am gone,” he said, “ my voice will 
be there, and when I come again, the little shell 
will sing of my return.” 

But, dear friend, the shell is silent. He comes 
not. Only a murmuring comes to me when I 
hold it to my ear. 

This is my story. I must go to my little 
home, and I thank you for listening. Perhaps 
I feel less lonely now I have told. 

Hark! What is that? A voice! ’Tis his! 
My shell is singing. 

( Chorus,*—Music “ Aloha”) 

Who comes up the winding walk? ’Tis he, my 

T 1 The music of chorus, not the words, may he played 
softly off-stage; or may he omitted. If the music is 
played the strain may continue softly until end of 
monologue .3 


79 



MOSTLY COMICS 


lord. My big American. Gordon! Gordon! 
I am here, my lord! ’Tis little Thea! 

He is holding out his arms. Oh, my friend, 
he has come back to me! I must fly to him, to 
my dearest, dearest lord! 



LUCINDY JONES HAS A HOLIDAY 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Lucindy Jones, an old-fashioned country 
spinster . 

Maria Mosely, her friend . 

Scene.—Lucindy’s sitting - room . 

Lucindy rocks and talks . 

My land, Maria Mosely, here I am home agin, 
and still I ain’t tore to pieces with pushin’ 
through them crowds of animals in the city. 
Talk about a stampede of cattle—cattle is real 
human beside them human bein’s where I been. 
Myrtle Busby invited me to spend Christmas 
with her in the city “ fur the holidays and a 
rest,” she wrote. 

I went, though I had declared I wa’n’t goin’ 
for a long time agin, after the last visit, and I 
felt like a tree blowed by the wind instead of 
restin’ and it’s a wonder I’m livin’ to tell the 
tale. 

You know I went to see Myrtle two years ago 
come Thanksgivin’ and was wore out afterward 
for a month, but I must be gittin’ lite-headed the 
way I’m persuaded agin’ my better jedgment. 
That last time I was to see Myrtle before this 
I went to a football game—and of all the fool 
performances! Myrtle’s oldest boy was in the 

81 




MOSTLY COMICS 


team, and she was awful anxious to go and took 
me. We near froze settin’ there, and you be¬ 
lieve me, all it was, Maria, was a lot of crazy 
lookin’ boys in all kinds of fool togs and masks 
and leather things on their noses and pads on 
their cheeks, runnin’ all over a field with a big 
ball, knockin’ each other down, tryin’ to get the 
ball over a line like a lot of fool grown-up 
children! A doctor run every little while with 
a suitcase to see if anybody was hurt. 

Reg’ler child’s play it was if it wa’n’t so 
rough. Myrtle and the rest got plum excited 
about it, and a lot of young idiots was yellin’ 
and wavin’ flags like they come out of the 
asylum for the feeble minded down to Poky 
Corners. 

That was bad enough, Maria, but this year 
it was wuss for I was right in the thick of the 
fight—not football but wuss, shoppin’,—with 
Myrtle and the rest of the shoppers, it bein’ 
Christmas time. Myrtle had to go to bed the 
day after Christmas, wore out with trvin’ to 
think what to give each one and then buy in’ 
the stuff. 

The second day after Christmas she was 
down-town changin’ everything that was give to 
her because it was too large or too small or she’d 
ruther have suthin’ else. 

Then, too, she had a family dinner with all 
the relations and that bunch of relatives of hern 
would drive a body distracted. Nobody can 
choose the folks that’s related to ’em. Lucky 

82 




LUCINDY JONES HAS A HOLIDAY 


Christmas only comes onct a year. I near lost 
my wits with the noise of horns and drums and 
runnin’ trains and toys that jumped and near 
tripped me up every minute. 

I remember when a few oranges and a little 
bag of candjr or a new gingham dress and may¬ 
be a rag doll or two made me happy. Now¬ 
adays children has to have the earth, and then 
they ain’t satisfied. 

Myrtle’s alius talkin’ about child welfare an’ 
lettin’ children just grow as a plant grows, but 
I ain’t never seed no plants but weeds what 
didn’t need directin’ and spankin’ onct in a while,— 
the children I mean not the plants, of course. 

Myrtle brought her children and them ideas 
to see me onct and near wrecked the farm, let- 
tin’ ’em grow and foller out their young lives. 
They broke the pump and let the cows out of the 
pasture and set fire to a haystack, and she had 
to go home when her oldest boy fell off the wind¬ 
mill playin’ he was climbin’ a mast in a ship¬ 
wreck. 

I wa’n’t glad he broke his arm, but leastways 
I think the hand of Providence was a-workin’ in 
the matter jest the same, for I was wore out with 
child welfare I can tell you, Maria Mosely, and 
simply achin’ to use a horse whip on the inner- 
cent plants as Myrtle called her offsprings. 

Myrtle took me to the Opery, one night, when 
I was visitin’ her this Christmas and things city 
folks enjoys is plum ludricrous. A fat man 
with quite a stummick and outlandish clothes 

83 




MOSTLY COMICS 


with a ostrich plume in his hat come out on the 
stage and sung in a langwidge nobody ever 
heard and I don’t believe half the folks in the 
audience understood neither. 

Then a considerable sized woman squawked 
so you could hear her a mile. It was wuss than 
a hen before her head gits cut off. Then an¬ 
other man in a red suit kept runnin’ around 
lookin’ like the old Nick himself. Myrtle said 
the Opery was Faust. I didn’t say nothin’, 
pretendin’ to enjoy it, but I’d ruther hear our 
church choir sing on a sociable night a blame 
sight. 

When the whole crowd on the stage sung 
together you couldn’t hear yourself think. 
Myrtle was tryin’ hard to entertain me so I 
didn’t let on even when we went and set in the 
balcony to look at a dance their oldest son ar¬ 
ranged w T hen he w r as home from college fur the 
holidays. 

You won’t believe the scandalous tw T istin’s and 
shakin’s they call dancin’ nowadays, Maria. 
And the clothes! Well, them young gals didn’t 
have on much above the waist, nor below neither 
fur that matter. Myrtle seemed proud and 
said it v-as a beautiful party, and I says, “ Yes, 
you could see a plenty,” but I guess she didn’t 
git my inner meanin’ for she said she was glad I 
enjoyed myself. Ain’t no accountin’ for tastes 
as that old woman they tell about said w r hen she 
kissed the cow. Tastes sure do differ. Give 
me the Virginia Reel we used to have and decent 

84 



LUCINDY JONES HAS A HOLIDAY 



clothes to cover you. I don’t keer if I am old- 
fashioned. 

I don’t know what this world’s a-comin’ to, 
Maria. In my estimation we’re in the last days 
and are goin’ to be visited by some flamin’ jedg- 
ment for sech carryin’s on. 

But I’m home agin in nw old rockin’ cheer, 
in m}' own settin’ room, and I think the Lord 
willin’, I’ll stay here fur quite some spell. I 
ain’t much givin’ to laughin’, Maria, but 
Myrtle’s idea of restin’ in the city pretty nigh 
makes me laugh out loud. 


85 



WHEN CUPID DECIDES 


I wish I could tell which one I like best; 

There’s Harold who doesn’t seem quite like 
the rest, 

He waltzes divinely, and is dreamy and slow, 

When he looks down, your heart sends a 
wonderful glow 

To your cheek. It is really not anything 
much 

That he says—“ The dance of the evening,” 
and such 

Old stuff as that—he’s above that poor 
chatter, 

Harold’s eyes tell a lot more than another 
man’s patter. 

Then I one step with Bobbie. “ Say, Girlie, 
you look 

Like a magazine cover. Please hand out the 
hook 

To those other poor stiffs. I am mad about 
you.” 

I’m afraid Bobbie’s a gusher, and couldn’t be 
true, 

To one lonesome maiden. I fox-trot with 
Gus, 

He’s a little bit fat, and sometimes makes a 
fuss, 

Panting and breathless when we turn in the 
dance, 


86 



WHEN CUPID DECIDES 


Yet Gus has a car that was made over in 
France, 

And another from England. He’s a generous 
lad, 

If he only would diet, he’d not be so bad. 

But the toddler is Tommy. He can give you 
a whirl 

That would win all the love of a dance-lov¬ 
ing girl. 

His smile is a winner, he’s cheery and bright, 
You could toddle with Tommy almost every 
night, 

And never grow weary. They are all very 
fine. 

I think if I stood them along in a line 
’Twould be quite hard to choose and I never 
could tell 

Which one I liked best, I like all so well 
That my wishes go flying and I am afraid, 

I perchance may be shelved a saddened old 
maid. 

But stay! There is Charlie, who hasn’t the 
knowledge 

Of fox-trot, or one step. He’s just out of 
college, 

And is working like mad to stage a career. 

I don’t seem to flutter when Charlie is near. 
Yet, he certainly is , good looking and kind, 
Thinking it over, I wouldn’t quite mind 
Seeing Charlie at meals, each day tete-a-tete, 
Anyhow, he has asked me, so he may be my 
fate. 


87 




MOSTLY COMICS 


I’ll just write a letter and answer to-day, 

I wouldn’t like Charlie to be inveigled away 

By some other girl. It might do for the rest, 

It has come all at once,—why, I like Charlie 
best! 

He’s the chap that will wear well, right 
through the years, 

Sturdy and strong—through the sunshine and 
tears, 

I won’t write—I’ll ’phone him, “ Hello, 
Charlie dear, 

You said you’d be waiting every minute to 
hear; 

Come over to-night—Oh, I’ll make you guess, 

The answer. You can’t wait? Well then, it 
is—Yes.” 


88 




THE LAMENT OF SEVENTEEN 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Percy himself. 

The Others, viz: The useless members of the 
household , called the family. 

Scene. —The home of Percy, aged seventeen. 

Perct unbosoms his grouch. 

Of all the utterly imbecile arrangements that 
Nature ever planned, that of grouping individu¬ 
als in families is about the most inane. Rabbits 
come in groups, but lions and elephants come 
alone. About one is sufficient in a family col¬ 
lection at a time, but human beings have to have 
brothers and sisters, and even infants, all grow¬ 
ing up together so that you are liable to step 
on.a child at most any hour that } r ou are com¬ 
pelled to return to the home domicile for food 
or a change of raiment. 

The family is the bulwark of the nation, our 
Prof, said in class the other day. I’d like to 
invite him to our shack for a week, and he’d call 
it the barricade, but professors are moony in¬ 
dividuals. I bet they never know how many 
offsprings they have—anyhow, this Prof, isn’t 
conjugated, or I mean spliced, though Aunt 
Mab, that’s my relative that hasn’t been able 

89 


t 





MOSTLY COMICS 


to catch anything but measles and the things 
that came along in her childish career, I mean 
she missed fire when she went gunning for a male 
in her youthful da}^s and now she’s thirty-five 
by her own count and about forty-five by Pa’s, 
at least he says behind her back (she’s Ma’s 
sister) that she’s old enough to eat hay—which 
must be a horsy term, about obsolete in these 
buzzwagon days, I guess we Moderns would say 
her tires were flat, anyhow, as I started to say, 
she’s tried hard enough to annex this particular 
Prof, to herself. 

But getting down to cases, there’s nothing 
that a guy does that escapes the family optics. 
When I attained my majority—well almost—I 
was seventeen last June—I balked on Ma bu3 r ing 
my clothes, and strange to say, Pa stood by me. 

“ We men have to hang together, Perce,” he 
said, which is the most logical thing I have heard 
him utter for many a day. 

If you go to a dance on a school night, the 
whole family howls and as for snooping, if I 
reach twenty without landing in jail for murder¬ 
ing that useless piece of furniture that goes by 
the name of George, my brother of twelve, it’ll 
be a miracle, and those things aren’t pulled off 
to-dav. How George ever got annexed to the 
family, I don’t know. He must have been left 
on the door step. 

The funny thing about a family too, is that 
nobody ever has any cash. You can hint your¬ 
self black in the face, but a sudden deafness 

90 







THE LAMENT OF SEVENTEEN 


falls like a pall on the whole blamed group. 
Ma begins to talk expenses—Pa says there’s no 
business—not a-tall—Sis says if she just had 
the money she knows is in circulation somewhere, 
although she has no actual experience of the 
same, she knows what she would do, but she 
never divulges what it is. Then George begins 
to talk about a new ball bat, or that his boxing 
gloves are worn out, and I’d like to know what 
show a bird has to open up negotiations in that 
kind of a howl. It sure is the cootie’s collar 
button. 

It’s queer about a fellow’s sister, too. 
Women are hard to understand, but a person 
they call a sister—well, she doesn’t seem to be¬ 
long, that’s all. You take Sis—she’s only a 
year and a half younger than I am, but she’s 
in some of my classes, and sometimes she seems 
middle-aged. Not that she can’t dance. I 
guess she’s good looking enough, although I 
can’t see it, but she has such an elderly way of 
seeming superior. Half the time she’s on the 
floor on her stomach with her heels in the air 
reading a book, that is when Ma isn’t around, 
and if you come near her when you’re ready to 
go out, she says, “ Not a red. You couldn’t 
pry gold from me with a jimmy. I’m clean. 
That last fudge party was my undoing. If 
Hard Luck was my maternal ancestor, I’d be 
sitting on her lap with my lily arms around her 
neck. Midas is a name in myth and story. The 
mint is a building, but its contents, I am con- 

91 






MOSTLY COMICS 


vinccd, are nil—it is a vacuum. I may look like 
the bee’s ankle or the caterpillar’s choker, but 
it’s a mirage. Better have a fade-out—it’s the 
end of the reel.” 

Say, what can } 7 ou do with anybody like that? 
And she goes on chewing her gum—when Ma 
ain’t around—without looking up. That’s a 
sample of her line of chatter. She can hand it 
out by the yard. Her advice, which she hands 
around freely, I never take. It’s closer than 
her cash. Once when I didn’t pretend to take 
her advice, but did, I got my face slapped. I 
inadvertently dropped a remark about Cecile 
Brewer being shy, after the manner of my sex, 
and she never batted an eyelash, but advised me 
to try being a sheik, and take a kiss by force. 

I did, and believe me, Cecile plays basketball 
or something, and she near broke my jaw when 
I tried to be spoony. That was when I was 
sixteen. I’m getting wised up now. I guess 
Cecile owed me a grudge. I invited her to the 
football game and managed to pry three dollars 
and fifty cents out of the family exchequer, and 
when we got to the field, the tickets were four 
dollars. I couldn’t beg, borrow nor steal the 
necessary cush, so we had to go to a movie and 
get some ice-cream. Believe you me, I never 
heard the last of that at home or abroad for a 
year. No girl ever could keep a secret, and as I 
remarked before, women are hard to understand. 
We men are certainly puzzled at the problem 
they present. 


92 




THE LAMENT OF SEVENTEEN 


Life is a queer estate. What with dodging a 
girl’s small brother and sister when you go over 
to see her, with filling your life with threats for 
the next of kin of both sexes, that group in your 
family, with trying to dig up a few bones from 
the parental purses of both sexes, the parents, I 
mean, not the purses—the path to twenty-one 
and freedom is anything but one of roses. It’s 
like a stretch of highway that’s closed for re¬ 
pairs. 

Then the name they wished on me, “ Percy,” 
just because we had an ancestor way back in 
colonial days, Sir Edgar Montmorency de Percy, 
or something. Ma used to call me Pertie until 
a year or two ago. When I was a kid about 
twelve, one of the gang called me that one day 
and I gave him a bloody nose and nearly knocked 
his block off, so I wasn’t bothered any more. 
Ma is fond of me, I suppose, but she doesn’t use 
any judgment. She tells too much.—The other 
day I heard her tell some callers that I had 
shaved for the first time and that her boy had 
quite grown up, and how sad it was, and the 
other caller said too bad and they almost cried 
talking about it. You’d think I was about to 
die or something. 

It’s getting worse every day. What hap¬ 
pened the other night? It was a logical dance 
night, Friday, and for a wonder nobody kicked 
when I came down in my Tux. I felt sort of 
self-conscious, for it was the first time I’d worn 
it, but I walked into the dining room—Ma had 

93 




MOSTLY COMICS 


called me three times—trying to look indiffer¬ 
ent—George giggled—but Ma told him to be 
quiet. 

“ You’re late,” she said. 

“ Well, I couldn’t get into the bath room to 
take a bath,” I answered. “All the family wants 
to wash at the same time, anyhow, it’s a cinch, 
you can gamble on it.” 

“ Cleanliness being next to Godliness,” pipes 
up Sis, looking wise. 

“ Wish they’d all take their religion in turns 
then,” I said sarcastically. 

“ Don’t Percy look fine in his new tuxedo? I 
told Mrs. West I bought him a tuxedo suit be¬ 
cause he had promised never to smoke until he 
was twentv-one,” Ma said. 

George groaned and Sis rolled up her eyes and 
folded her hands in a saintly way. 

“ Shut up,” thundered Pa to George. 

No use for them to guy me, for I don’t smoke. 
I tried it once and it made me sick, but I’m 
going to try it again. However, I didn’t feel 
it necessary to impart that information to the 
assembled multitude at the family board. 

“ Ma,” I said. “ Please refrain from talking 
to the other women as though I were a kid like 
George.” 

“ Who’s a kid ? ” says George. “ Anyway I 
got your goat.” 

“ Be silent, young man,” said Pa. “ And 
you, Percy, don’t tell your mother what to say. 
Sit down and eat your dinner.” 

94 




THE LAMENT OF SEVENTEEN 


“ Yes, hurry,” said Ma. “ Father and I are 
going to a dance at the Club.” 

“Why—can’t I have the car?” I asked 
aghast. “ Gee whiz.” 

“ Alma’ll have to walk, or is it Bess or Madge 
to-night? ” asked Sis sweetly. 

“ Who’s your Sheba now, oh mighty Sheik,” 
Sis queried languidly. “ Perhaps it’s Elsie 
Roberts.” 

“ That prune.” 

“ Whom did you say, Miss Prune? ” asked 
Aunt, who is quite deaf. “ That’s a queer name. 
I nearly married a man named Plum once.” 

“ He must have been a berry,” said George, 
in an undertone. 

“ George, be quiet,” said Mother, decidedly. 

“ Young girls are very bold to-day,” con¬ 
tinued Aunt. 

“ Oh Aunt, you make me weary, not to say 
ill,” piped up Sister. 

“ Let me hear no more from any of you,” said 
Mother severely. 

“ What about the car? ” I asked. 

“ Nothing doing. We’re going to use our 

own car once in a while,” said Pa, “ if you 

will pardon my boldness,” he added sarcasti- 

callv. 

%/ 

“ We cannot go to a dance in evening clothes 
without a car,” Ma put in. 

Imagine one’s parents going to dances. 
What is the world coming to? Pa’s too fat 
to dance anyway. These were my thoughts. 

95 



MOSTLY COMICS 


Of course I did not express them. I might to 
Ma, but not to Pa. 

44 Can’t you get a taxi, and let me have the 
car as long as I’ve have arranged? ” I asked. 

44 Oh, yes,” said Pa. 44 We can walk or 
any old thing as long as our children have all 
the comforts of life.” 

44 You can’t go, Pa,” piped up that infantile 
demon, George. 44 Perce has on your black tie. 
He tore his tying it.” 

44 Ah, dry up,” I whispered. 

Then Pa exploded. 

44 Young man, how many times have I told 
you to let my things alone. The only reason 
mv clothes are safe is that they’re too big. 
This is a fine age we are living in—what with 
the j azz, and flappers, and short dresses, and 
bobbed hair-” 

44 Pardon the correction, father,” said Sis 
complacently. 44 You are speaking of clothes 
and customs that are out of date, obsolete as 
it were. We are doing up our tresses—and 
lengthening our skirts, although jazz is still 
prevalent in the land.” 

44 None of your impertinence, young lady,” 
Pa continued. 

44 What with the cat’s whiskers and Bee’s 
knees and all of George’s inane talk-” 

44 Why pick on me? ” George put in. 

44 Be still until I finish. Never speak while 
older people are talking.” 

44 Then I’ll be dumb in this family by the 

96 





THE LAMENT OF SEVENTEEN 


time I’m grown,” George said, “ because I 
wouldn’t get a chance.” 

“ That’s just what I was saying. There’s a 
lack of respect these times that is certainly, if 
I may borrow your elegant expressions, the 
camel’s suspenders, or the antelope’s ear¬ 
rings. 

“ As for the car, take it by all means, and 
leave your family stranded, marooned at home. 
I won’t go at all now,” said Pa, and stormed 
out of the room. 

“ Now see what you’ve done,” said Ma, “ and 
I have a new dress and you’ve made your father 
angry.” 

“ Percy,” Pa called, from the front room, and 
I dragged my way to the room, shakily, be¬ 
cause Pa is some tongue lasher when he is angry. 

Pa pulled me to one side—was he going to 
chastise me? I’d never stand for that. The 
world was large and I might go to California 
and go into the movies. 

But Pa’s hand was on my shoulder as man 
to man, and when I looked up there was a 
twinkle in his eye. 

“ Perce, we men must stand together. You’ve 
saved my life. If there is anything I loathe it’s 
a dance; Perce, let me impart a deadly secret. 
I’m too fat to trip the toe fantastic and I am 
tired. Beat it into the hall—take the car and 
get away but come home some time before morn¬ 
ing—I’ll cover your escape ”—and he actually 
gave me a five dollar bill. 

97 





MOSTLY COMICS 


“ Pa, you’re the ant’s sunbonnet and the 
bumble bee’s lavalliere,” I said, grasping bis 
hand as I beat it. 

After all, we men must stick together. 



98 



MAMMY LIZA TELLS ABOUT MISTER 
SAMSON AND MISS DELILAH 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Mammy Liza. 

Andrew Jackson. 

The Rest of the Pickaninnies. 

Scene.—Mammy’s cabin at the close of day. 

Mammy Liza relates a story . 

Mammy sings: 

Reign, Reign, ovah mah soul, 

Reign Massa Jesus, reign. 

(She pauses.) 

Ah knowed it. Ah sho’ knowed it. Ah done 
felt it in mah ole bones. 

You chillen, Ah often tells you, is worser’n 
dem plegs of Egypt! G’wan ’way from heah. 
Ah wants ter res’ mah bones an’ set still in 
peace after mah day’s wuk. No sah—No 
sahree—no story to-day. Dis heah teasin’ has 
got to tumminate immijit. 

All’ll give you sumpin to whine about, Andrew 
Jackson, in ’bout a minute, a whalin’—dat’s 
what. You thought Ah was gwine tell you de 
story Ah promised you yistiddy? Ah don’ 
seem to recommember no sech promise. 

99 



MOSTLY COMICS 


Maybe Ah did. Well, set down. Ah’m 
reg’ler wo’ out wid yo’ teasin’. 

Which story waz it? ’Bout a strong man? 
Dat was Mister Samson. Ah wish he was heah 
to-day an’ Ail’d git him to whale you—Shet up 
howlin’. He ain’t heah, am he? 

Well, Mr. Samson, he sho’ was strong. Oh, 
he could jes’ walk up to dem mountains yondah 
in Tennessee an’ push ’em right ovah wid his 
lil finger widdout even lookin’. 

How big is a mountain? Why, it reaches 
from de earf to de sky. Ah reckon dat am de 
way we got dem tunnels dey tell ’bout. Mister 
Samson jes’ push right froo de mountin’ side. 

Mr. Samson was pussonal ’quainted wid some 
folks called de Phillipines, an’ one time when dem 
Phillipines got too sassy, he jes’ pick up de jaw¬ 
bone of a ole mule what died in his place an’ 
killed ’bout a thousan’ of ’em. 

Look out, Andrew Jackson! Don’ look so 
skairt, or yo’ eves will jes’ natchelly pop out of 
yo’ haid. Dah certain seems a lot of brains 
what you ain’t got, boy. Set quiet and shet 
yo’ mouf. Ah’s doin’ de discoursin’. 

Well, Mister Samson got took up wid a likely 
gal name Miss Delilah. She was one of dem 
Phillipine ladies, an’ her folks wa’n’t no friends 
to Mister Samson in dere hearts neder. In 
fack, he was de pusson whot dey wasn’t de 
fondest of. 

Anyway, Mister Samson couldn’t see nobody 
fur lookin’ at Miss Delilah—de gals in his town 

100 




SAMSON AND DELILAH 


simply wasn’t on earth, when Miss Deliah come 
in view. 

But she was a wise one. She was one of dem 
vampuscs, an’ vampuses is like de typhum fever, 
easier to ketch dan what dey is to shake. She 
was boun’ dat woman, to fin’ out what mek 
Mister Samson so strong, not only kase she was 
bustin’ wid curiositurn, but kase her folks was 
eggin’ her on. 

“ G’wan an’ fin’ out dat secret, an’ we give 
you a pretty new silk dress,” dey say. 

Ev’y woman lak a new silk dress, so she say 
to Mister Samson, “ Ah sure is proud of you, 
what in tarnation mek you so strong? How 
come, none of de othah folks is lak you? ” 

“ Oh,” he say, “ Ah ain’t so strong. Tie me 
up an’ see.” 

An’ she tied him up wid ropes, and then 
sneak out an’ call her folks, but he bust right 
through the ropes when he think de fam’ly is 
cornin’ marchin’ in. 

Miss Delilah was mad, but didn’t ’tend to be 
an’ she say, “ Ain’t you de jokinest pusson? ” 

De next day when she see him, she say, 
“ Mornin’, Mister Samson,” an’ he say, “ Morn- 
in’, Miss Delilah.” 

An’ she say, “ Is you strong as evah dis 

* 5 !) 55 

mornin r 

He says, “ Ah’s all right. Ah ain’t no 
thicker nor no thinner, ’an I was when you see 
me befo’. Ain’t gain or lose a pound.” 

Den she tease him some mo’, but she couldn’t 

101 




MOSTLY COMICS 


9 


fin’ out an’ she say, “ Yo’ is beginnin’ to dislove 
n^e, Mister Samson, Ah sho’ believe.” 

*fle swo’ dat she was de onliest one. 

“ Ah could of had mos’ any one of deni 
Phillipines I wanted,” she purr like a cat, “ but 
Ah only keered for you an’ yet you won’ tell 
me one lil bit of a secret.” 

“ All’ll take dis matter under considerment,” 
Mr. Samson said, beginning to weaken. So 
she tease an’ tease, “ If you sho’ love me lak 
you say you does you’ll tell me,” an’ finally he 
got all wo’ out lak Ah does wid you chillen, an’ 
he says, “ If you cut off my har I gits weak,” 
kase he had long har what was de style for men 
dem days. Luck wa’n’t walkin’ hand in hand 
wid dat man dat day, dat’s suttin. 

Miss Delilah she say, pussuadin’ like, “ You 
look tired, Mister Samson. Don’ you want to 
take a lil nap? ” 

Not spectin’ nothin’, he say, “ Thanks, Miss 
Delilah for de suggestions. Ah guess Ah will 
take a lil nap,” for he was plum wo’ out wid 
her lak Ah is wid you chillens, beggin’ an’ teasin’ 
sometimes. 

While he was asleep, she done cut off his har 
an’ dem ’lations of hern, dem Phillipines come 
in den an’ put out his eyes. 

Dey wa’n’t very sociable pussons, Ah reckon. 

Dry up, Andrew Jackson. Ain’t no use 
snivellin’ now. It’s done. Dat was better’n 
what Mister Samson mought have ’spected any¬ 
how, kase it look fur a while lak there was gwine 

102 



SAMSON AND DELILAH 


to be a corpse what answered to de name of 
Samson. He sho’ was courtin’ tribulation, dat 
man. 

Well, anyhow, Mister Samson got even wid 
dem Phillipines, kase one day when dey fasten 
him up, he went feelin’ roun’ fur de posts of de 
place whar he wuz and pulled de whole buildin’ 
down on his enemies. I reckon his har had 
growed out long agin. 

An’ Mister Samson was done gathered to his 
fo’ fathers. Folks dem days seemed lak to have 
fo’ fathers, but Ah never hearn nothin’ ’bout fo’ 
mothers. 

Now, go ’long you chillen an’ when yo’ Ma 
wants to cut yo’ har you keep it short so won’t 
nobody else git a chanst to pull you by de wool. 
Clar out, dat’s all Ah’s gwine to tell you—dis 
minute. Ah’s gwine smoke my pipe. 

(She hums.) 

Reign! Reign obah mah soul, 

Reign! Massa Jesus, reign. 


103 



FELINE PSYCHOLOGY 
Or, The Monologue of a Cat 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

The Cat, Theda Bara. 

The Master. 

The Mistress. 

44 Chin-Chin ”— the dog. 

Maggie, the maid. 

Scene.— An elegant furnished apartment on 
the drive. 

What The Cat thinks. 

I suppose human beings think a cat hasn’t 
any opinion, but we don’t have eyes that shine 
in the dark for nothing. 

Away back there when I was a kitten and a 
monstrous creature they called a baby used to 
squeeze me until I squealed, I had my own ideas 
when the mother used to say, 44 Oh, the little 
darling, how he loves kitty! ” I don’t know 
what love is, but it must be something very 
depressing. There was a person they called 
Aunt who would sa} r , 44 No, no, baby mustn’t be 
rough.” But the mother always protested it 
was all right, and when friends came in she 
would hunt around for me to let them see how 
cute baby was with kitty, and how he loved her. 

104 



FELINE PSYCHOLOGY 


I used to run and hide when that monster 
crawled toward me. 

Once I gave the monster a great long scratch, 
and then I was in disgrace, for the baby, as 
they called him, shrieked for an hour and I was 
scolded. But I said to myself, “ There, see how 
you like it.” And I peeped out from under the 
sofa and purred to myself with joy. 

One day I couldn’t stand the maulings any 
more, and slipped out. I made up my mind to 
get away from the monster. For a while I was 
an alley cat, living in doorways and eating from 
garbage cans, but although there was a sort of 
freedom about that kind of life that was allur¬ 
ing, yet when it began to grow colder I thought 
it wise to look for a house. 

At last I found a big building where there was 
a janitor, and he let me stay by the furnace, 
and there was a blue-eyed maid up-stairs who 
used to feed me. Then one day she begged the 
janitor to let her have me for company, and so 
up-stairs I went and lived on the fat of the land. 
Most of the time I stayed in the kitchen, but 
once in a while I wandered through the apart¬ 
ment. That was a wonderful place, like a 
palace, with soft rugs and shiny floors, and a 
big glass room all palms they called a sun 
parlor, and out of the window there was a park 
and a big lake. 

When I went into the rest of the rooms there 
was no one there, except one day when a man 
with a kind face sat smoking, and he looked at 

105 



MOSTLY COMICS 


in surprise. “ Well, Kitty, where did you 
come from? ” he asked, and he seemed so friendly 
that I jumped up on his lap and began to purr. 
For a while he sat reading and smoking, and I 
laid in his lap and he stroked my fur. Then 
suddenly he jumped up and took me out to the 
kitchen. 

“ Maggie,” he said, to the blue-eyed maid, 
“ it’s about time for the Mrs. and Chin-Chin; 
the cat will have to vamoose.” 

“ Oh, no plaze—I’m awful fond of Thayda— 
that’s what I calls her, Thayda Bara; I’ve had 
her for a month, sir, and the Missus and Chin- 
Chin ain’t got wise.” 

“ All right, I’m blind and dumb, if you are 
enough of a diplomatist to keep out of hot 
water,” said he. 

“ Shure,” says the blue-eyed maid, “ I keeps 
her in my room, and Chin-Chin is mostly too 
swell to come into my kitchen, so I’m safe 
enough.” 

“ I don’t think the Mrs. bothers much with 
the kitchen, either,” he said, and laughed, but 
that laugh didn’t sound like a laugh but a sigh. 
“ However, if you are clever enough to keep 
her out of sight, Maggie, she stays,” and he 
gave me a final pat and went away. 

After that he snuggled me in his arms when 
the Mrs., as he called her, and Chin-Chin were 
away. If she left the dog behind, the Master 
would put him into the sun parlor because he’d 
sniff and bark around although he could not see 

106 




FELINE PSYCHOLOGY 


me as I snuggled out of sight in the Master’s 
smoking jacket, but I could peep at him. My, 
but he was an ugly dog with a face that looked 
as though it had been pushed in, and he had a 
snarly temper, although when I was in the 
kitchen I could hear the Missus through the 
swinging door into the diningroom calling him 
her 44 Babykins and little lamb-” 

44 Ugh! ” said Maggie, the blue-eyed maid, 
44 she kisses that imp of Satan. Sure it nearly 
gives me the say sickness. Him bein’ so fond 
of kids and stoppin’ avury wan he sees in the 
strate, and her hatin’ the sight of the 4 dirty, 
tiresome little wretches,’ as she calls them. A 
nice, clane cat like you, Thayda, is worth 
twanty of them 4 babykins ’ with the Chinymen 
faces.” 

One day when Maggie was feeding me the 
Mrs. came in suddenly and saw me. She was a 
blond lady and she had on a pale blue satin 
dress and wore a long, shiny string of pearls. 
44 Oh, heavens, where did that awful creature 
come from?” she shrieked. 44 Don’t let my 
Babykins come out here. Put it right out; 
we’ll all get diseased. Cats are great disease 
spreaders.” 

44 Sure,” said Maggie, 44 it’s the janitor’s cat 
and I’ll put her right out.” My heart was 
broken for I thought Maggie was a traitor, but 
she just put me on the step and whispered, 
44 Wait, Thayda, I’ll take you in when the ould 
hin’s gone.” 


107 




MOSTLY COMICS 


We had a grand time for a while because the 
Mrs. went to a place called Florida, and the 
Master and his friends let me roam around the 
place and petted me until I was a regular aristo¬ 
crat. 

The winter went by and the snow melted. I 
was in the sun parlor most of the time, so I could 
see the changes. And one day the Master 
looked out and said, “ Why, Theda, Spring is 
here. The buds are on the trees and soon the 
lilacs will be blooming. Isn’t it splendid, 
Theda? ” and he stretched out his arms and 
smiled. “ And the little children running about 
so happily. God bless their little hearts, how I 
love them! ” I peeped out of the glass windows 
and the lake was big and blue, and people 
walked around in the park. 

Then all was sad again, because the Mrs. 
came home and that beastly Chin-Chin. 

Once when the Mrs. was away, I heard 
Maggie say when she went to the big windows— 
“ Well, if summer ain’t here, Thayda.” And I 
jumped up on a couch and looked out. “ See 
the people in bathin’ an’ lajun’ in the sand an’ 
their childer runnin’ around. That’ll get her 
goat, Thayda.” 

I saw how happy everyone seemed, and I 
didn’t understand, but that night Maggie said, 
“ What did I tell you, Thayda, herself’s kickin’ 
about them bathers agin; ” and when the ice 
man came Maggie told him the same thing. 
“ She’s wantin’ to git away agin,” she said, 

108 




FELINE PSYCHOLOGY 


44 them bathers offends her sight. Herself says 
it’s a crime for the Hoyee Poyee to be allowed 
on the Grand Drive, though God knows what 
Hoyee Poyee is. I heard them talkin’ at the 
table. 

44 4 Shure,’ says himself, the Master, 4 the 
Creator shouldn’t have made such mussy crea¬ 
tures,’ says he, 4 but just the same, they sanies 
to be enjoyin’ thimselves,’ he says. 

“ 4 I can’t see where you git your playbayin’ 
ideas,’ she says. 4 Chin-Chin can’t stand them, 
he barks and barks from the machine.’ 

44 4 Chin-Chin is probably too much of a Chink 
to like water,’ says himself, who like me and 
Thayda hates the sight of that homely baste. 
Don’t vou, Thayda? ” I purred, cuddling in 
her lap. 

Then came a day when I had a wonderful 
secret, and so did Maggie, because she fixed me 
a nice box with a soft cotton shawl in it, and 
I was so proud and pleased that I thought, 
44 Now I will be welcome, and the Missus will 
surely notice me.” 

So when Maggie was busy I slipped through 
the swinging door when she opened it, and went 
into the big living-room. Chin-Chin was curled 
up in an armchair, but he rose and commenced 
to bark. 44 What’s the matter with Mother’s 
lambkins? ” asked the Mrs. anxiously. But I 
wasn’t afraid, I walked along proudly with my 
head in the air. Chin-Chin barked and barked. 
44 What does he see? Oh, merciful Heavens, a 

109 



MOSTLY COMICS 


horrible cat. Shoo—get out—shoo! ” But I 
walked proudly right up to the Master. 

“ Drive the creature out, Robert. Why, it 
has a rat or some dreadful thing in the mouth.” 

The Master looked down. “ Well, well, Theda, 
at last you have crossed the Rubicon, and come 
right in before the Powers-That-Be. What 
have we here—a kitten—you wanted to show 
me your baby, didn’t you? ” 

“ Robert,” the Mrs. screamed, “ don’t touch 
that horrible creature. She may be diseased. 
And make her take out that other insect in her 
mouth.” 

The Master paid no attention to her. He 
took me and my kitten in his lap and kept pet¬ 
ting me. “ Theda,” he said, “ you have com¬ 
mitted the unpardonable sin—no babies are 
allowed - in this apartment. The would-be 
mothers are all too busy playing bridge and 
going to clubs. Shut up that blamed bark or 
I’ll break your neck,” he said to Chin-Chin, and 
the dog laid down and growled, but stopped 
barking. 

“ Robert, I am amazed that you would speak 
to Babykins like that,” the Mrs. said, running to 
her dog, and taking him in her arms. “ That 
cat must get right out of here.” 

The Master rose. “ Come on, Theda; to¬ 
morrow I’ll find vou a nice home.” 

The next day we went, the Master, my baby, 
and I, into the country in the machine. The 
baby and I were in a nice box Maggie fixed for 

110 





FELINE PSYCHOLOGY 


us, and she cried when we left. We went spin¬ 
ning along past the many fields and the truck 
gardens—I did not know what they were then— 
until we came to a little town and a little house 
by the side of the road, and a whole troop of 
rosy faced children came out to meet us. They 
jumped on the running board and climbed all 
around; then when Mr. Robert took out the 
box everyone cried out, “ Oh, Mother, Mother, 
here’s a kitty and her baby. See what Uncle 
Robert has brought us.” 

A pretty lady with a baby in her arms, fol¬ 
lowed by a pleasant man, came out of the house. 
They all made so much fuss over me and my 
baby that I was very happy. No more hiding 
in rooms and sneaking around when the Mrs. 
was out. 

“ Theda, good-bye,” says Mr. Robert when 
he started away, “ I leave you at this little 
house, with the great out of doors. This is the 
babies’ paradise. It isn’t the house you live in, 
Theda, but the people and the babies that make 
a home. Here you can be as proud of your 
baby as you like.” 

The pretty lady with the baby in her arms 
sighed as he drove away in his big machine. 
“ Poor Robert,” she said, “ he’s going back to 
that beautiful place—the big building where no 
children are allowed.” 


Ill 




OVER THE ’PHONE WIRES 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Mrs. Clubby. 

Various Listeners. 

Scene.— Home of Mrs. Clubby. 

Mrs. Clubby talks. 

Plello—Hello. Is this the office of the “ Daily 
Whirl”? I want the Club Editor, please—Is 
this the Club Editor?—Say, Operator, can’t 
you comprehend that when I call the “ Daily 
Whirl ” I don’t want the Gas Company? 

Well, you gave me the wrong number—The 
" Daily Whirl,” please—yes, a newspaper— 
Laketon 0500—Yes. Hello—Is this the Club 
Editor?—What, the Stretchem Rubber Com¬ 
pany? Oh, dear! Op-er-a-tor!! The wrong 
number again. How many do you usually give 
before you deign to give the correct one? 
Laketon 0500! 

Hello! Is this the Club Editor ? Oh, yes— 
Well, this is Mrs. Clubby. I have some news 
for you. Oh, by the way, we didn’t like the 
way you began the Column last week—Well, you 
said this:— 

“ The Clubs have opened for their usual 
winter warfare and a lively season is antici¬ 
pated.” 


112 






OVER THE ’PHONE WIRES 


Now, that sounds rather as though we were 
belligerent and we are not at all—occasionally 
there are a few differences—but really nothing 
much, my dear. Of course some women are 
catty—I won’t mention names, however, but I 
just say my say—and stand my ground. 

Oh, yes, here is the news: 

“ Last week the great drive for the Old 
People’s Home closed. About $60,000 was 
taken in for the home and after expenses for 
lunches, dinners, dances, for the Committee, 
printing, etc., were paid, about $100.00 was 
realized for the Home.” 

Splendid drive we had, my dear. Just 
wonderful—here is another item: 

“ The Psycho-Analytical Woman’s Club will 
hold its opening meeting on Friday afternoon. 
A critical analysis of the atom and its relation 
and co-relation to all the intricate parts—singly 
and as a wholefa glowing introspection of the 
flowing streams of consciousness, will be given by 
Professor Solomon Wiseacre, whose talks are 
so deep ”—Oh, very deep, my dear. 

Try to run out and hear him, Miss Scribber. 
He is a marvel, and so instructive. Positively 
oozes knowledge. I don’t quite understand it 
all myself, but it’s marvelous. 

I think that is all, Miss Scribber. By the 
way, if you could use my picture, it might sort 
of add—I mean, people notice a picture, you 
know—Of course I really prefer not to have you 
use it—What? Mrs. Getthere wanted hers in 

113 





MOSTLY COMICS 


this week—Oh my dear—she’s not at all prom- 
inent-^that is, nothing except her nose—Do as 
you like. I wonder if you couldn’t have lunch¬ 
eon with me down-town to-morrow—oh, do—Yes 
—at the Athletic Club—yes, at twelve-thirty. 
I’ll just bring the picture—and if you want to 
use it—why—you may. All right. Good-bye 
—Er—to-morrow at twelve-thirty—Yes— 
Good-bye. 

Hello! Hello, Central, give me Woodhill 0600 
—Y es.—N o—N o—W ood-hill—W-o-o-d hill! 
Are you hard of hearing? Hello, is this you, 
Maud? 

What? It’s the Institute for the Feeble 
Minded—Gracious! Operator! Central! some¬ 
body! Why, these wires are crossed. What 
did you say? Eventually the Home for the 
Feeble Minded, why not now? Who are you, 
butting in like that? Certainly not a gentle¬ 
man. 

Central! Central! I want Woodhill 0600 
—No—no—O—0600. What you owe too? 
Will you get off the wire? 

Central! Operator! Woodhill—Oh, Maud, 
is that you? Such a time as I’ve had to get 
you. 

Thought I’d call you up. How are you? 
Promised I’d let you know about our Advanced 
Poetry Club—on Wednesday evening. It cer¬ 
tainly was so very advanced,—oh, my dear—we 
met at the North End Club House. That poet 
Yiking Regenstein read his wonderful excerpts 

1H 






OVER THE ’PHONE WIRES 


of Free Verse on “ The Dead Cat in our Alley,” 
“ The Apotheosis of the Garbage Man,” “ The 
Slimy Pool in the Deep Wood,” “ The Red Red 
Woman in the Purple Gown,” “ The Clogging 
Sewer,” and other vivid and weird things, my 
dear. At last we have discovered the true 
poetry unknown to the commonplacejsoul that 
has struggled for light through the medium of 
rhyme, down years agone. That’s what he said, 
and it’s true. 

I was simply thrilled, Maud dear—for days 
after I walked on air. When I told that to 
John he said the air must have solidified con¬ 
siderably to hold me. I presume he was coarsely 
alluding to my weight. 

John says he is going to form a “ Lonesome 
Fathers’ Club ” that will meet at the homes of 
the various husbands while the wives are at their 
several clubs. John is positively silly some¬ 
times. I do not believe the men realize all we 
do and the risks we take, Maud. 

Did you hear about Ruth Richly? You 
know that pretty debutante—G. E. T. Richly’s 
daughter? Well, she came very near being in¬ 
jured by a very common person last w r eek. 

You know, Maud, that Miss Richly is an 
active member of the Calories Health Club and 
in the interest of the club and humanity, made 
several calls in the slum district, going back and 
forth in her limousine. When she attempted to 
explain the science of correct living upon sixteen 
cents a day to a woman with nine children, she 

115 




MOSTLY COMICS 


was shown the door, pushed out in fact, and the 
woman’s vulgar, ill-bred offspring threw mud on 
her machine. Can you imagine such a thing? 
No wonder such people are always poverty- 
stricken and beyond redemption. They are 
very ungrateful creatures, don’t you think? 

I almost forgot, Miss Scribber, of the “ Daily 
Whirl,” is going to run my picture next week. 
She just insisted. I really dislike the notoriety, 
my dear—but what can one do? It comes with 
Club work. 

Come over Thursday and play bridge—just a 
little party of four, honey—luncheon at one— 
yes. I hope the party who is listening on the 
line will be edified. It’s that man, Maud. He 
said he was asphyxiated, the insolent puppy. 
Get off the wire, please, immediately! 

Maud, are you going to the Club Business 
Meeting Tuesday? It is always a scream. 
Two or three fight and run everything and the 
rest sit back and get mad afterwards, because 
they didn’t like the way things went. I hope 
they won’t put up Mrs. Dodger again. Some¬ 
times she knows you and sometimes she doesn’t. 
It’s shrieking, positively. 

Who called “ Time ”? This isn’t a prize fight 
—Oh, let the old crank have the wire. I bet 
he beats his wife. What?—Why, did you hear 
him? He said he’d shoot her if she was like 
me—the old bear. 

Well, bye bye, Maud, come over—Come over 
Thursday. Yes, and don’t forget the Club— 

116 






OVER THE ’PHONE WIRES 


Tuesday—The election, yes—Did you hear the 
rude man? He said, “ Just before the battle, 
mother.” Isn’t he horrible? Bye, bye, Maud. 

That man said “ The third time and out ”— 
you rude monster—Good-bye, Maud dear,— 
Good-bye. 


117 





JEZEBEL 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

Jezebel, the Queen-Mother. 

Jehonadab, an imaginary character , one of 
the body guard who has joined the forces 
of Jehu the conqueror. 

Scene. —An upper chamber in the palace of 
Jezebel, the Queen-Mother , widow of 
Ahab , former king of Israel. 

Time. —About 886 B. C. 

(Jehu the conqueror has just entered. Jez- 
reel after slaying Joram, the king, in the plains 
beyond. He demands the death of Jezebel, 
the wicked Queen-Mother. She has defied him 
from the window of her palace. Jehonadab 
enters the upper chamber and speaks to her.) 

Jehonadab speaks. 

Jezebel, thou sorceress, turn from the window 
with thy painted eyelids and glittering raiment. 
Thinkest thou to dazzle great Jehu with thy 
royal raiment? I, Jehonadab, one of his body 
guard who joined his forces, enter thy presence 
unabashed, thou Tyrian woman, Queen-Mother 
in the court of thy son, Joram. When thou 
didst appear at the casement to call to Jehu, 

118 



JEZEBEL 


who rides in his chariot in triumph through the 
streets below, didst thou think to affright him 
with thy threats? 

Dost thou know that Joram, thy son, who was 
but a plaything in thy hands, lies pierced to the 
heart by Jehu’s arrow in the plain beyond the 
walls ? 

Thine hour has come, oh murderess; too long 
have the people felt thy heavy hand. All 
Israel hath been scattered as sheep without a 
shepherd by thy wickedness in the sight of the 
Lord. Thine ears were closed to the warnings 
of the prophet Elijah, who fled to escape the 
vials of thy wrath and was fed by Moses in the 
wilderness. 

From the tower the watchmen beheld Jehu 
and his company and thy son, Joram, rode to 
meet him, crying, “ Is it Peace? ” And Jehu 
hurled back to him, “ Sayest thou Peace with 
the iniquities of thy wicked mother, Jezebel, 
abroad in the land? ” and he forthwith sped an 
arrow to the heart of Joram. 

Thy son is no more, Jezebel, called Queen- 
Mother, and a worse fate awaits thee. Soon 
will they blow the trumpets, crying, “ Jehu is 
King.” 

Take thy last look at the riches about thee, 
the hangings of purple dyed in thy native Tyre, 
the leopard and lion skins upon thy couch. On 
thee, Ahab, the king, thy husband, showered the 
gold and pearls of the east, the linens of Egypt, 
the ivories of Arabia. About thee are vases of 

119 



MOSTLY COMICS 


pottery, urns of copper and brass; incense wafts 
from vessels of silver; rare wines fill thy golden 
cups, full to overflowing—wines from the goodly 
vineyard of the slain husbandman. 

Aye, shudder if thou canst for the blood of 
Naboth and of his sons fills thy wine cups. 
From thy casement thou couldst view the peace¬ 
ful vineyard of Naboth and this, Ahab, thy 
husband, did covet. What saidst thou to thy 
husband who was too weak to follow his desires 
and thine? “ Let thine heart be merry. I will 
give thee the vineyard of Naboth,” and straight¬ 
way didst thou send forth letters sealed with 
the king’s seal, seizing the vineyard and causing 
Naboth and his sons to be stoned to death by 
thy vile emissaries to satisfy thy base desire. 

Yet for the blood thou hast spilled shall thy 
blood be spilled in return. Knowest thou who 
am I—Jehonadab, who stand before thee? 
Naboth was mine uncle and ’tis I who will 
avenge him. 

Thy iron rule is at an end. Since Ahab, thy 
husband, the King, was gathered to his fathers, 
all Israel hath been shamed. Altars have arisen 
to Baal the false god. His prophets of the sun 
and prophets of the moon sit at thy table. 
Call upon the false god, Baal, to save thee. 
Jehu demands thy death and I, Jehonadab, have 
asked this boon of him that I myself may follow 
his commands, and avenge, too, the death of 
mine uncle according to my vow. 

Call not thy eunuchs; they are in bondage. 

120 



JEZEBEL 


Thou didst paint thine eyelids and tire thy head 
to call threats unto Jehu, the son of Nimshi, 
who hath driven furiously and awaits below. Go 
to thy death in full glory with the raiment thou 
hast worshipped even as thou hast Baal, the 
false one. See, I wrap thy glittering chains 
about thy neck. 

What says prophecy? Thy blood shall flow 
in the streets and the dogs shall eat thee. Nay, 
thou canst not escape my embrace. I seize thee 
in my arms. (Looks out as though looking out 
of a zmndow into the street belozv and calls.) 
“What ho! Ye in the street below! To thee 
great Jehu I throw this woman that she be 
trampled beneath thy horses’ hoofs. (Makes a 
move as though struggling , and then throwing a 
weight from the windozv to the street. Speaks 
excitedly , looking down.) The multitude shouts 
as one man. They are trampling her, grinding 
her beneath the chariot wheels. Beyond await 
the dogs with dripping mouths, clamoring for 
the feast. 

(Lifts his arms.) Thus is prophecy fulfilled. 

“ In the portion of Jezreel shall the dogs eat 
the flesh of Jezebel.” Naboth, mine uncle, thou 
art avenged! 


121 



“ IT PAYS TO ADVERTISE ” 


The Romance of an “ Ad ” 

The handsome young man in the collar ad, 
Gazed across at the red-haired maid, 
Washing clothes with the flaky soap 
Guaranteed never to fade. 

What a wonderful wife she would make, he 
thought, 

Always so charming and neat. 

So he tried very hard to make her look up, 
She was so dainty and sweet. 

Yet across the car with never a look 
She seemed busily washing the clothes, 

The more modest she, the more anxious he, 
To find the words to propose. 

When all of a sudden alas! came a day, 

There appeared an “ ad ” for mince pie 
With a merry } 7 oung miss holding out a big 
slice, 

And looking him straight in the e} 7 e. 

Forthwith he forgot the girl and the soap, 
The miss and the pie looked so good, 

For with men in an “ ad ” and with men in 
real life 

The way to the heart is just— food. 

122 


ENTERTAINING ANGELS UNAWARES 


“ You’d tink dey costed about ten cents 
apiece,” mused Red Charley, watching the 
stream of automobiles as he crossed the Michi¬ 
gan Avenue bridge. Ordinarily, he would have 
walked across the bridge without glancing at 
the river which he only heeded when an open 
draw and passing steamer awakened a lazy in¬ 
terest ; but to-day he hesitated and then stopped 
quite still, and leaned against the railing. A 
woman stood gazing intently out over the river 
toward the setting sun and on the hand that 
grasped the railing scintillated a diamond of 
rare brilliance, at least to Red. 

“ Gee, dat’s some sparkler,” thought Red 
Charley, his hunting instinct aroused. So the 
ferret scents the rat or the hound the fox. This 
was his quarry. She was a young woman, and 
a most attractive one with a slender girlish 
figure in a trim jacket and skirt, a gray fur 
scarf, and wearing a small modish hat. 

“ Wot’s de dame lampin’ in dat dirty stream 
for? ” mused Charley again. “ ’Tain’t no oil 
paintin’.” 

It was a bit picturesque for all of Red’s scorn. 
The soft sunset glow turned the water to a 
shimmering pink and the warehouses loomed like 
gray, ghostly castles in the western haze. A 
tug went chugging up stream. A barge laden 

123 


MOSTLY COMICS 


with stone was tied to the dock. Over on the 
bridges to the west miniature people and trolley 
cars hurried along, dwarfed by the distance. 
By and by the twinkling lights began to come 
up and the electric signs to flash out their call 
to the morrow’s marts of trade. The girl 
seemed to rouse herself as if from a dream and 
started north. Red Charley waited, keeping 
her in sight, for he was too well known to the 
police to be careless. She went down the stair¬ 
way, turned east in Grand Avenue and turned 
over to Ohio Street, going toward the great lake, 
walking rapidly. When she came nearer to the 
shore, she started north again. Charley quick¬ 
ened his pace. He was not sure what he would 
do. He did not wish to hurt the girl but he 
wanted the ring. She stopped not seeming to 
hear him and it was now quite dark so that he 
could keep out of sight. The walk had been 
a long one but she had gone at such a brisk pace 
that Charley had kept upon first speed in order 
to follow her. He was quite close now and he 
saw her step for a moment into a faint streak 
of light that came from a distant street lamp, 
open her bag and take out a small revolver. 
For a moment Red Charley thought she had seen 
him and was about to protect herself. Then he 
realized that she intended to take her own life. 
Quick as a flash, he seized her arm and wrenched 
the revolver from it. Involuntarily, she put up 
her other arm, clutching his hand as if to shield 
herself. 


124 



ENTERTAINING ANGELS UNAWARES 


“ Wot’s de great idea? Dis ain’t no movin’ 
pitcher,” he said, pulling her into the shadow, 
for Red was ever on the alert for a “ cop.” 

She did not scream. Sometimes the soul is 
so deadened with pain that no shock can awaken 
it. 

“ Why did you do that? ” she said dully, as 
though she had known the burglar all her life. 
“Now I must go on living—on and on and on.” 

Then Red Charley became conscious of an 
amazing thing. In the struggle, the diamond 
ring had come off in his hand-—the ring he had 
coveted and the woman was too dazed to know 
it. He could cut and run now, but he didn’t. 

“ Kill me and I will not have to kill myself,” 
she said in the tone of one who had no hope. 

“ Wot th’ hell! Excuse me, loidy, I am a 
tough piece o’ cheese, but I ain’t never croaked 
nobody yet,” he said. “ Wot’s got holt of you, 
dat you wants to pass in your checks so 
sudden? ” 

A piece of piling had been thrown upon the 
shore. She sat down upon it and began to weep 
uncontrollably. Red Charley stood awkwardly 
in front of her for a moment and then he sat 
down beside her. Misery draws strange com¬ 
panions together. 

“ You ain’t in my class, loidy, but if you kin 
git dis load off your chest by spillin’ it to me, 
why, shoot. My hearin’s first rate.” 

That was the trouble with Charles of the red 
hair surnamed Red, burglar, crook and man 

125 



MOSTLY COMICS 


about town. He had a soft heart that had 
landed him behind the bars more than once. 

44 You are very kind,” she moaned. 46 No one 
can help me. It is too late.” 

She did not seem to think it strange that he 
was there beside her. When the ship is sink¬ 
ing and the soul faces eternity, the 44 where¬ 
fores ” of daily conventional life mean noth¬ 
ing. 

44 Nuttin’s ever too late, loidy. Why I’ve set 
in jail—I mean,” he corrected hastily, 44 I’ve 
saw men in de cooler wot tought dey was in for 
life, putty near an’ dey’re hoofin’ it around dis 
little old burg to-day. Don’t never give up 
’til dey nails down de coffin lid. Sometimes 
things comes unexpected,” he added, thinking of 
the ring. 

44 I’ve nobody left—not one,” she cried out 
into the darkness, bearing her soul to the spirits 
of the night, with the spoken words, so long 
pent within. Something held the burglar there 
almost against his will. 

44 Wherein have I failed, oh God? ” 

“You don’t look like de Salvation Army, 
ma’am, but vou sure talks like one of them soul 
snatchers. Go on if it makes you feel easier in¬ 
side,” Red Charley put in. 

She had no sense of fear, of time, or of place. 
It was as though she had passed beyond the pale 
of earth and stood at the judgment seat of the 
Infinite, pleading her cause. Mechanically, she 
told her story, scarcely conscious of her listener, 

*126 




ENTERTAINING ANGELS UNAWARES 


beginning as though they had spoken of it all 
before. 

“ I’ve pretended and pretended with my 
friends and now my money is gone. I don’t 
know what to do. My husband and I quarreled 
and I left him in a fit of anger and then I 
wouldn’t make up, and he went away. I re¬ 
turned all of his letters. It was his best friend 
who employed me, but that best friend was a 
traitor to us both, and when I wouldn’t listen 
to him he said there was some cash missing and 
dismissed me. No matter where I went his 
vengeance followed me until I am tired of it all. 
I can no longer stand the strain. A friend 
invited me to stay with her, but I paid until I 
lost my position. The salary was so small it 
hardly kept me, and my friend’s husband grew 
tired of my being there. It was a week ago I 
heard him say when I went to my room, 4 Our 
expenses are too heavy—I don’t see why I have 
to be burdened with your friend. Why don’t 
she go to work? We don’t need her help here, 
in this little bandbox and two’s company and 
three’s a crowd in any house.’ 

44 It w r as not meant for my ears but I heard 
and it rang all day in my heart like a death 
knell. I did not wait to hear what she replied. 
I did not want to hear and I would not be a 
bone of contention between them. I only knew 
I was not wanted and I tramped all day trying 
to find something to do. There were plenty of 
places but I was unskilled and there seemed to 

127 



MOSTLY COMICS 


be no groove into which I could find a place. I 
had never known what it meant to battle with the 
world. Then I found a place and they dis¬ 
missed me to-day. I knew the vengeance was 
following again, that it would follow me until 
I was broken or beaten. There was only one 
way out of it all—the coward’s way, perhaps, I 
do not know. I did love my husband, and now it 
is too late to let him know. Love, love is such 
a wonderful thing—I am sorry for the souls 
that hunger for it and hunger in vain.” 

Red Charley had a sort of choking feeling in 
his throat. He fumbled at the ring in his 
pocket. 

“ Gee, he done you dirt, dat man you w r as 

hooked up to, and dat man what was pretendin’ 

to be his friend. I’d fix dat boid if I had him 

here, de filthy skunk,” he said, forgetting that 

she was a “ loid} 7 .” She was only a soul in 

misery and had made an appeal to the kinder 

side of the soul of the crook. “ But, say, don’t 

git to figurin’ no more on no gun play. Why, 

you alius had plenty of clothes and had enough 

to eat so far in your life, see? Down where I 

growed up, most of ’em is froze in winter an’ 

gaspin’ fer air in summer, and one good square 

feed a day would make ’em tink dev was makin’ 

* ’ 

dat buzz-wagon Ford sore. I growed up in de 
gutter. Everybody kicked me. It seemed to 
git deir goat dat I was breathin’ out of de same 
atmosphere. But here I am. Buck up, see? 
Don’t be a quitter. Maybe dat man of yourn 

128 




ENTERTAINING ANGELS UNAWARES 


will git some twinges in dat space where his 
heart orter be, see? And come back. Any¬ 
ways you will sure get a job if you wait, see? 
Buck up, loidy.” 

The girl rose slowly. “ I’m going back and 
try to find a way out,” she said. “ I have been 
a coward. I don’t know who you are but you’ve 
made me believe in God again. I almost doubted 
that there was a God.” 

Red Charley fingered the diamond ring once 
more. Then he suddenly drew it from his 
pocket and pushed it into her hand. “ You 
dropped dis, miss; you kin hock dat or sell it 
for somethin’.” She took it mechanically. “ I 
wanted to keep that. He gave it to me—my 
husband, when he asked me to be his wife. It is 
all I have left,” and the tears rolled down her 
cheeks. 

“ He’ll be cornin’ back, loidy. Don’t turn on 
de weeps. Ain’t no boid livin’s worth spillin’ 
out yer soul fer. Grab holt on to life again, 
miss. Dat’s what I’m tellin’ you.” 

She seized his hand impulsively and pressed 
it to her cheek. “ Oh, how kind you are! I 
will—I will try—won’t you tell me your name ? ” 

“ I ain’t got much of a name, loidy, just 
don’t you mind me. I see a bull—I mean a cop 
—in de next block. Chase along, he might get 
nosey about me an’ you, see? ” 

“ God bless you,” she said, “ I’ll begin all 
over again.” And she slipped away into the 
night. 


129 




MOSTLY COMICS 


Red Charley stood like one in a trance. 

“Wot th’ hell! Dat dame squeezed me 
hands like I was somebody. She’s a fine dame 
all right, but she’s sure bugs too, else she 
wouldn’t say I’d made her believe in God, me a 
boigler. I’ve gone bugs, too, handin’ over de 
sparkler wot come so easy. But her own folks 
give her de dirty mitt and it was up to me to 
make good. Tink of Red Charley handin’ out 
de comfort dope like a reg’lar little soul 
snatcher, and handin’ back de sparkler. I’m 
sure a bunch of squirrel food, and I’d better get 
my bean examined, failin’ for a weepy skirt like 
dat.” 

And Charles the Red sauntered back to Clark 
Street, pawned the revolver, and went into a 
Greek all-night joint for a bite of supper. 


130 



THE AWAKENING 1 


CHARACTERS IMPERSONATED 

The Woman. 

Self. 

Truth. 

Beauty. 

Vibration. 

Scene. —The room of The Woman. 

(The scene is a small room in great disorder , 
clothing thrown about the floor. On a table , 
books , bits of food , soiled dishes and small 
alcohol stove used for cooking purposes. An 
unmade bed adds to the general air of discom¬ 
fort and untidiness. 

The Woman enters , wearing outer garments 
and moving in a slow dispirited way. She takes 
off her hat and coat and throws them upon the 
bed. Looks about her in a discouraged way; 
drops into a chair and assumes an attitude of 
despair.) 

(Enter Self: a cynical woman dressed care¬ 
lessly. ) 

Self. Well,—so you at last believe me! 
Life is scarcely worth the while! (Woman 

f 1 Note : Written for and dedicated to The Tucker 
School of Expression .3 


131 



MOSTLY COMICS 


shakes head sadly.) The World is a dreary 
place where man preys upon his neighbor. The 
rich strut about in jewels and fine raiment; the 
poor starve and slave. Beyond your tiny room 
are stately halls, where wealth and gayety 
abound—you—you have naught. 

Woman. Nay, I have naught—naught but 
misery. 

Self. You are cold and hungry and unloved* 
(The Woman shivers . Self comes closer.) 
Why not end it all! 

Woman ( starting up). Who are you that 
tempts me thus? 

Self. You should know me. I am your 
inner self. Look about you—is the struggle 
worth while? There is no future. All is dark. 

Woman (sinking into a chair and burying her 
face in her hands). I will end it all. I can 
bear no more. 

{The door opens and Truth, a woman in 
Grecian draperies , enters. Self starts to slink 
away. The Woman lifts her head. Truth 
points a finger at Self who slinks toward a 
corner as if afraid.) 

Woman {slowly). You—Who are you? 

Truth. I am Truth. I have come to aid 
you. Lift up your head. 

(Self makes a movement toward Woman.) 

Woman. I cannot ! 

Truth {in a tone of command). Lift up 

132 




THE AWAKENING 


your head! ( Looks at Self who drops hack. 
The Woman slowly rises and comes forward.) 
Lift—lift—up—up—to the full length of your 
being. ( The Woman stands straight.) Up— 
up toward heaven from whence comes the light! 
(The Woman lifts her whole body. Truth 
throws open the window.) Behold, I have let 
in the light. Gaze about you. 

(The Woman gazes about her.) 

Woman (in amazement). Why, all is disr- 
order! (Begins to pick up the clothing.) Has 
it been always thus? (Straightens the books , 
etc.) 

Truth. Breathe the fullness of life. 

Woman. The air is sweet—it was stifling! 
I want to live! Here in my little room life is 
worth while. (Self draws nearer as if to domi¬ 
nate Woman. Woman pauses.) And yet I 
love beauty; none is here. My world is so 
small! 

(Enter Beauty.) 

Beauty. Your world is all the world! 

Woman. And you—Who are you? 

Beauty. I am the curving line of Beauty. 
Come with me. (Leads Woman to the window. 
They look out.) Your world is there—where 
beckon the waving branches of the trees—where 
glows the blue of spreading sky—where gleam 
the snowy cloudlets. Behold the curving limbs 
of childhood—the graceful sweep of birds upon 
the wing—the flowers dropped from Paradise! 

133 










MOSTLY COMICS 


Woman. Oh, how beautiful! I have never 
seen these things before; and these are mine! I 
am rich! I will not be sad again! (Self 
creeps nearer in effort to hold Woman.) 

Woman ( growing grave). But, I alone am 
unlovely. I have neither form nor comeliness!! 

Beauty ( holds up mirror to the Woman and 
Self slinks aivay). The round cheek, the bright 
eye, the graceful neck—all these are your gifts. 
You are wonderfully made. Would 3 r ou destroy 
God’s handiwork with the thoughts of Self? 

Woman ( gazing in mirror). Oh, I, too, am 
beautiful! My hope is renewed. I am alive 
and in a wondrous world! (Self slinks aivay.) 

( Enter Vibration.) 

Vibration. You have but opened your eyes 
like a new born babe unto the light. 

Woman. Who are you? 

Vibration. I am Vibration. You shall not 
stop at Self-Knowledge for thus would }mu 
stagnate. Go forth to help others! Vibrate— 
with the glory of the awakened Soul within you! 

(Self sinks in heap on floor .) 

Woman (holding out her arms). I have 
found my Soul and I will carry the message to 
other souls crying for light, even unto the utter¬ 
most parts of the earth. 

CURTAIN 


134 





AN UP-TO-THE MINUTE JINGLE 


We woke up the other morning, 

And found a dreadful plight. 

The snow r had fallen steadily, 

All day and half the night. 

We could not get about at all, 

No use to growl and grovel; 

The only sort of remedy 

Was just to—up and shovel. 

Now that is how it is in life, 

You can’t sit down and say, 

“ The world’s all wrong,” and fold your 
hands. 

Get your shovel—make a way. 


135 



THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


Malvina Harris took off the “ gown ” she wore 
when at work, changed her shoes, donned a black 
skirt, a white shirt waist, and a warm, if some¬ 
what worn plush coat, packed her things into a 
“ soup case,” as she called her Japanese mat¬ 
ting valise, put on her hat (a man’s white straw) 
and sallied forth toward the Forty-third Street 
car line. She boarded a Stock Yards Car, 
transferred and went to her little cottage on 
Wentworth Avenue. This was the regular 
routine of Malvina’s day, six days out of seven, 
and she made a fairly comfortable living, wash¬ 
ing, ironing and cleaning, at three dollars and 
ten cents per day. Down in her soul, Malvina 
was an aristocrat, the child of a slave in an old 
Kentucky family and herself a slave in her early 
childhood da}^s. Now, while, during the carpet¬ 
bagging period that followed the civil war, the 
word “ slave ” had had an opprobrious sound, 
to-day, in Malvina’s mind it separated the negro 
of class from those she designated as “ Po’ 
white black trash,” or “ half strainer,” as the 
mood suited her. 

She had attained an age when she spoke her 
own mind freely and w r alked into snobs of her 
color rough shod. The soul of honor, Malvina 
would have guarded the property of those she 
loved with her life, and the spirit of the mis¬ 
tress of that old Southern mansion had fallen as 

136 


THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


a garment upon the girl with the black skin, 
who had grown up amongst the fine old trees and 
stretches of blue grass, in that far-away South¬ 
land. 

Malvina unlocked the door of the little cot¬ 
tage and was about to enter when some one 
called her. 

“ Oh, Miss Malviny! ” 

A colored man wearing a soft felt hat, tan 
shoes with gray tops and a coat with a near fur 
collar, lifted his hat somewhat timidly, as Mal¬ 
vina squared around in a rather belligerent 
fashion. 

“ Well! What you come messin’ roun’ heah 
fo’ again? ” 

“ Nuthin’, Miss Malviny—nuthin’—only I is 
so glad to see you.” 

“ Dat’s more’n I is you. Go on ’bout yo’ 
business, ef }mu has any.” 

“ None at present ’ceptin’ to call on you.” 

“ Which ain’t no business ’tall, kase you is 
gwine to hoof it immejut, Moss Johnson.” 

The new overcoat then held no lure. It was 
all in vain that he had had his light felt hat 
cleaned. 

66 You has sech a ’tractive home, Miss Mal¬ 
viny, ain’t you gwine to ’vite me in ? ” 

“ ’Vite nothin’,” then suddenly, “ Fo’ Gawd’s 
sake, man, what you done with yo’ haid? ” 

Moss placed a protecting hand over his head 
as though he feared she would pull the hair out 
by the roots. 


137 




MOSTLY COMICS 


“ Why I—I—I have jes’ been havin’ the kinks 
took out,” he stammered. “ Does you like it? ” 

“Like it? You looks mo’ like a fool than 
evali. Been messin’ roun’ them crazy barber 
shops whar they tries to make fokes more’n they 
is, takin’ the kinks outer beards an’ makin’ 
heads of hair straight. They’d oughter take 
the kinks outer yo’ haid. Nex’ time you’ll be 
tryin’ to git yo’ skin white—peelin’ it or some¬ 
thin’.” 

“ No, no, Miss Malviny, not so long as you 
is a pretty brown liken you am. May I come 
in?” 

However hard-hearted a woman may be, such 
devotion is melting and Malvina unlocked the 
door. Moss picked up her “ soup-case ” and 
followed into the neat little house. The stove 
was shiny, the bed quilt spotless, and the fur¬ 
niture orderly. A few plants at the windows 
between the white curtains bore the evidence of 
loving care. Malvina changed her dress in the 
kitchen, and donned her cover-all apron, hang¬ 
ing her street suit behind a curtained space, 
which held an assortment of gowns of various 
sizes, given to her by different employers, gowns, 
many of them too small for her ample figure, for 
Malvina accepted anything that was given to 
her of any size, whatsoever, and never by any 
chance, gave it away again. She had a collec¬ 
tion of shoes that would have done for a de¬ 
butante. One small white satin pair she treas¬ 
ured with a love amounting to adoration. They 

138 




THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


had belonged to her young mistress and were 
kept carefully wrapped in tissue paper in a 
dresser drawer. 

44 Well, I is gwine to git a meal for mahse’f. I 
suppose you is got to be fed too,” she said un¬ 
graciously. 

Moss drew a parcel from his pocket. 

44 Miss Malviny, I brung poke chops,” he 
said, with adoring emphasis. 

“Humph! You must have had a riz in yo’ 
sal’ry. Poke chops is high.” 

44 That’s why I brung ’em. I wouldn’t offer 
you nothin’ cheap ”—and he held out the parcel 
as though offering a sacrificial gift to a god¬ 
dess. 

Malvina received the meat, indifferently, while 
Moss removed his overcoat and inside coat, 
apologizing for doing so and stirred up the fire 
in the stove. 

44 Yo’ sho had yo’ nerve, Moss Johnson,” said 
his inamorata, taking down the frying pan, 
44 bringin’ dis heah meat; how yo’ know I gwine 
to let you come in? ” 

44 Miss Malviny, I made up my min’ to hang 
roun’ untell you did. It’s the stickinist paper 
what ketches the flies.” 

44 You’ll fin’ I ain’t no fly—I’se mo’ like a 
wasp and you is gwine to git stung ef you don’ 
watch out.” 

44 You is too sweet to string nobody,” gushed 
Moss, trying to take her hand. 

44 You’ll git burnt wid hot grease in a second- 

139 



MOSTLY COMICS 


and you jes’ cut out dat molasses talk, or I’ll 
bust yo’ wide haid open wid dis fryin’ pan.” 

“ Miss Malviny, I—I worships you, won’t you 
marry me? ” 

“Marry you? No! I tole you no, a dozen 
times. Twict I has committed matermony and 
I done drawed a blank each time, so now I wuks 
for mahse’f an’ don’ have no man a hoggin’ up 
mail earnin’s.” 

“ But I wants to wuk for yo’, Miss Malviny. 
I has bought a lil restyrant, you know, an’-” 

“ Yes, an’ yo’ wants a cook. I has yo’ sized 
up. Nothin’ doin’, man.” 

“ I swears on de bible, I jes’ wants yo’—yo’ is 
alone—yo’ son is married,—and I loves yo’.” 

Malvina had set the table for two. 

“ Come on an’ eat an’ stop yo’ foolin’,” she 
said bluntly, putting the meat in front of him. 

“ Here’s some bread an’ fried taters and some 
rice puddin’.” 

Moss smacked his lips. 

“ The reg’lar kin’ with raisins an’ hard 
sauce,” he said—“ mm—mm—Malviny, set 
down, an’ let’s perten’ we am married.” 

“ Yo’ ole fool! Let’s perten’ we got some 
sense, even ef we ain’t.” 

“ I s’pose I ain’t restocratic nuff fo’ yo’. Miss 
Grant, she say-” 

Malvina squared round and when Malvina 
squared round, there was always fire in her eye. 

“ Don’ ’peat nothin’ to me what dat snob say. 
She come roun’ heah tryin’ paterumnize me, 

140* 








THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


tellin’ ’bout her lectum lights an’ marbleize bowls 
an’ lavumtories in her flat. Why she ain’t 
nothin’—that woman ain’t. She ain’t nothin’— 
nothin’, I tell yo’. Nevali was nothin’ neithah. 
Dem po’ white thrash niggers whut nevah had 
nothin’ comes up heah from the souf, makes a 
lil money an’ den puts on mo’ airs ’an a peacock, 
tryin’ lord it ovah us fokes what was alius usen 
to quality.” 

Moss began to grow nervous, even with the 
delectable meal before him, cooked in Malvina’s 
inimitable way. 

“ There, there, Miss Malviny, don’ git so 
oncited. Ev’body knows you is qual’ty. Won’t 
you ’sider mail application fo’ membership in yo’ 
fambly as a husban’? ” 

Malvina took another pork chop. 

“ Husban’ nothin’, such a pusson don’ recom- 
men’ hisse’f to me. I is smoked an’ cured of 
husbands, an’ den I has my life wuk.” 

“ It am Christmas, Miss Malviny, an’ I 
thought maybe yo’d like me fo’ to offer myse’f 
fo’ a Christmas gif’.” 

“ Christmas gif’! Gawd save us! You is 
mo’ like a April Fool present.” 

“ These fried potaters is sho’ appetitious, 
Miss Malviny,” Moss paused a moment, with his 
fork in the air. “ Yo’ spoke of yo’ life wuk, is 
yo’—er—is yo’ meanin’ vo’ life wuk am de lil 
white gal P ” 

“ Nevah min’ my meanin’, I knows it.” 

“ Well, Miss Watkins, Miss Yi’let Watkins—- 

141 




MOSTLY COMICS 


she wat am the sistah to the preachah of de 
Ephraim Baptis’ Chu’ch, she say-” he hesi¬ 

tated. 

Malvina eyed him narrowly. 

“ Have some rice puddin’, Mr. Johnson. Miss 
Watkins, she say what? ” 

Moss took some pudding to fortify himself 
and continued. 

“ Miss Watkins she say it am queeah, ’bout 
dat lil white gal, an’ how you is her garjeen.” 

“Well, yo’ jes’ tell Miss Watkins dat she 
oughtah go to de Baptis’ chu’ch ev’y day an’ 
wash out her mouf. She am a gossip an’ yo’ 
tell her ef I ketch her talkin’ ’bout me an’ my 
lamb, I’ll jes’ natchully kill her.” 

“ Yes’m, Miss Malviny. I’ll tell her.” 

Malvina rose. 

“ An’ now, Mr. J ohnson, vo’ has done et yo’ 
poke chop, yo’ kin jes’ clar out.” 

“ Miss—Miss Malviny, can’t I set a while? ” 

“ What is yo’—a ole hen ? ” 

“ Miss Malviny, can’t I take yo’ to a movie 
show ? ” 

“ No, I has a movie show of mv own cleanin’ 

•J 

up. Yo’ go on alone.” 

Sadly Moss donned his coat and overcoat with 
a sigh and took himself and his newly straight¬ 
ened head of hair out of the house, toward the 
bright lights of State Street. He boarded a * 
cross town car, and soon found himself walking 
amongst the elite of Chicago’s colored popula¬ 
tion. Electric signs began to twinkle in front 

142 




THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


of the various cafes and stores. Groups of 
people gathered on the corners. In spite of the 
nearing holiday season, the weather was mild, as 
Chicago is a lady of moods and whims. Young 
colored swains chatted with chocolate-hued 
maidens as they strolled along. Jazz music 
rang out from the confectionery stores. The 
soda fountains were busy centers of interest and 
long lines of people stood in front of the movie 
theatres, waiting to gaze upon some favorite of 
the screen. Moss stopped in front of a window 
displaying brilliant ties and gay sport shirts, 
and sighed. Maybe if his tie had been more 
vivid, it would have kindled Malviny’s interest 
anew in the male sex. 

“ How is yo’, Mr. Johnson? ” said a voice at 
his elbow. 

“ Oh, Miss Watkins, thank yo’, I is tollable,” 
said Moss lifting his hat. 

“ Yo’ don’t look even peart. Has Malviny 
fired yo’ again? ” 

“ She sort of did. But, Miss Watkins, yo’ 
better not go up to Malviny’s. She’s ’bout as 
fond of yo’ as a hoss am of a rattlesnake—not 
meanin’ yo’s no snake—it’s jes’ a ’parison.” 

“ ’Parisons is ojious.” 

“ Dey sho’ is, but Miss Malviny, she say ef 
you talk any mo’ ’bout her an’ her lil white gal, 
she natchally gwine to ’nihilate yo’. So this am 
a warnin’.” 

Miss Violet Watkins tossed her head. She 
was most fetchingly attired in a beaded gown, a 

143 





MOSTLY COMICS 


marmot fur coat and the popular low shoes and 
silk stockings. 

“ I ain’t skeered of her a lit bit. De whole 
chu’ch am talkin’ about her for dat mattah. 
How come dat lil white chile am quality when she 
ain’t got no fokesP An’ how come dey done let 
Malviny brung her up? But ne’r min’ dat ole 
Malviny Harris, She am too ole fur a fine 
lookin’ man like yo’ is. Is yo’ walkin’ souf or 
norf, Mr. Johnson? ” 

Mr. Johnson, flattered at the tribute to his 
youth and good looks, was walking toward 
Thirty-fifth Street, and thereupon escorted Miss 
Violet to a movie show, so that disposes of them 
for the time being. 

Malvina washed up her dishes, after the de¬ 
parture of Moss, and settled herself in a chair. 
She seemed to be in a deep reverie, and presently 
arose and went to the drawer of her dresser, 
taking out a bundle of what appeared to be 
letters, or photographs and something wrapped 
in tissue paper, seating herself again. It was 
some time before she unrolled the tissue paper, 
disclosing a pair of dainty satin slippers. She 
ran her hands into the slippers holding them 
out at arm’s length. 

“ Lil Missy! Lil Missy! Po’ lil Missy,” she 
murmured, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. 
“ Yo’ usen to dance about in dese slippahs like 
a lil fairy, an’ now yo’ is gone! ” 

After a time, she rolled up the slippers rever¬ 
ently, and opened the bundle of photographs. 

144 



THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


There was a picture of a pretty woman in white, 
in the full sleeves and train of the eighties, and 
several pictures of a child in a white slip and 
socks;—then later one of the same child, now a 
young girl with a witching smile and a mop of 
curly hair. 

She opened a letter and with difficulty spelled 
out the words. 

“ Blessed Mammy Malvina': 

School is closed for holidays. We closed 
three weeks earlier this vear because of the ill- 
ness of one of the Sisters. I am invited to the 
home of one of the girls for a week, but I will 
come to see you just the minute my visit is over. 
I am so happy, dear Mammy, for a special rea¬ 
son and I love you. 

Your baby, 

LouvILLE. ,, 

Malvina had a habit of talking to herself. 

“ She is giftin’ too ole, seventeen this year an’ 
this ain’t no fitten place for my baby,” she mut¬ 
tered, rising and putting her treasures carefully 
away. She took a bank book from the drawer 
and looked it over. “ I has a lil money lef’ an’ 
I’se gwine to take her back home, an’ see what 
kin be done. Dat’s what I’ll do when wuk 
slackens up in a month or two, maybe—I 
kin wuk harder an’ make up the money 
agin.” 

We say that “ Man proposes and God dis- 

145 



MOSTLY COMICS 


poses ” and at that we lay too much at the door 
of the Almighty. In a short time came Louville, 
beautiful and seventeen. She had been with 
Malvina since her babyhood, that is as far as the 
neighbors knew and Malvina kept her own coun¬ 
sel. She had come from Kentucky with the 
white child of five and her own boy of twelve. 
The boy had played with the neighbors, but the 
little white girl had been placed in a convent, 
and came to the cottage only for an occasional 
visit, although it was reported that Malvina saw 
her every w r eek. The boy grew up, married and 
had gone to another town to live. So the years 
had slipped by, and here was Louville seventeen 
and beautiful. 

“ Mammy Malviny,” she said, patting and 
kissing the black cheek, “ I am here and I am 
going to stay for a while, and you are not going 
to work or anything. We’ll have a Christmas 
tree this year and ride on the bus and shop and 
everything. So you can just rest. I do love 
you so much. The Sisters were nice and kind, 
but you are the only mother I have known. Tell 
me, dearest Mammy, about my mother—I mean 
all about her. I think I am old enough to know 
now.” And Louville sat down on Mammy’s lap. 

Malvina hugged her white child. 

“ Yes, some day, soon, yo’ is gwine to know. 
We’ll soon go ’wav down to Kaintucky to the big 
white house near Louville—dat’s why I call yo’ 
Louville, kase I loves dat town and we’ll deman’ 
justice from dat uncle of yourn.” 

146 




THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


“ Oh, tell me about him, Mammy dear! ” 

Malvina shook her head, “ Not quite yet, 
chile—not now, but you shall have justice, baby. 
We’ll go in ’bout two weeks, ef I can arrange it 
satifacshum.” 

“ Two weeks. 0 Mammy, and I have a 
secret too—no, not yet—but I’ll tell you soon. 
Two weeks, Mammy, why that will be Christmas 
time.” 

“ Yes, baby, we’ll go fo’ Christmas. Some¬ 
times the Lawd softs up fokes’ hearts roun’ 
Christmas time.” 

Man proposes—eh? Poor finite man. 

The brewing social storm that broke out at 
intervals swept certain districts now and again 
with more or less violence. The riots of some 
months before, with occasional bomb outbreaks, 
when the racial feeling grew to a climax that 
ended in death and lawlessness, had made Mal- 
viny uneasy regarding her child. She knew that 
there was an undercurrent of feeling against the 
girl and a curiosity as to her origin. The recent 
bombing of property purchased in a white neigh¬ 
borhood had fanned the flame anew. Malvina 
saw the trend of feeling toward her baby. She 
must take her away to the South. Only that 
day she had slapped Violet Watkins’ face when 
she had slurred at Louville while she was at the 
grocery making purchases. It was time to get 
away. She must take Louville South and plead 
with the girl’s uncle for fair pla}\ 

At nine o’clock the night before they went to 

147 





MOSTLY COMICS 


start there was a knock at the door and almost 
immediately Moss Johnson rushed in. “Miss 
Malviny, de mob am headed dis way. Hide dat 
white chile! ” 

Malvina slammed and locked the door and 
Louville rushed into her arms. 

“ Let ’em dare tetch me or mah chile,” she 
shouted. 

Moss started out the back way. “ Miss Mal¬ 
viny, I has warned you. I’d like to stay, but 
I ain’t a fightin’ man.” 

“ Go on, you coward, I is a fightin’ woman,” 
she shouted again and he was gone. 

A rumbling of voices was heard, growing 
louder every minute, and a crash came against 
the door. 

“ Malvina Harris, open dat do’! ” cried a 
loud voice. 

“ What you want ? ” 

“ You open dat do’, or we’se gwine to bust 
it open.” 

“ Go on an’ bust. De lan’lord’ll bust you.” 

There was a mighty crash and the door fell 
in. Malvina grabbed up a chair pushing Lou¬ 
ville behind her. 

“ Stav outside! Stay outside! De fust one 
dat come past dat do’ sill am gwine to git his 
haid laid open, an’ his brains shook out. What 
you want, you po’ trash? ” 

She stood facing the mob and even then they 
felt the power of her presence. 

“We want dat white gal what puts on sech 

148 



THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


airs. We’ll teach her to live down heah whar 
we is an’ act like we’s de dirt undah her feets.” 

“ No, no,” cried Louville, “ you are mistaken. 
I could not do that. I have never harmed any 
of you and I love Mammy Malvina.” 

A shot struck the wall behind Malvina. She 
was brave until it came to the girl. 

“ Why fur you want to kill dat chile? She 
ain’t all white. She am mine. My own flesh 
and blood. I’m her real mothah.” 

Violet Watkins stepped to the front of the 
mob. 

“ Yo’ is her mothah? ” she cried. 

“ Yes, I is, and dis is yo’ doin’, Violet Wat¬ 
kins. Now git out all of you. ’Tain’t nobody’s 
business ef she had a white fathah.” 

Violet laughed mockingly. “ A white fathah! 
An’ this is the saint, the gran’ chu’ch membah, 
Malviny Harris, what am too proud to ’sociate 
with common folks! ” 

Malvina rushed forward and the crowd fell 
back from the door. There was a policeman’s 
whistle and the mob dispersed. Louville sank 
into a heap upon the floor. Malvina lifted the 
door and placed a chair against it. The girl 
crawled upon her knees and clasped the negro 
woman about her body. 

“ Mammy, Mammy Malvina, quick—quick, 
was it true? Am I your child? Am I a 
negress? Tell me, tell me you were lying! I 
shall die! I shall die!” 

She dropped to the floor in a faint. Malvina 

149 



MOSTLY COMICS 


picked up the limp form in her strong arms. 
All her life she had been a mother to the girl 
and now that Louville thought that she was 
really her mother, she was unable to bear the 
horror of the situation. 

Life was a strange thing. A matter of color, 
not heart. The girl’s agony terrified her, and 
she gathered her baby in her arms. 

“ Mah baby! Mah baby! I was lyin’ to 
save yo’ life. You is white—I swear it.” But 
Louville did not seem to hear. 

A young man walked into the cottage from 
the rear door which Moss Johnson in his hasty 
flight had left open. He was a good-looking 
young man, in a dark suit and belted over¬ 
coat, with a soft felt hat on the back of his 
head. 

“Who is yo’? Git out!” Malvina cried 
fiercely, holding Louville closer to her ample 
breast. 

“ I beg pardon,” the young man said, “ I am 
a reporter from the Daily Mail and have been 
getting a line on the riots.” Then catching 
sight of the girl, he cried, “ Louville, dearest 
Louville, what are you doing here? ” and he 
tried to take her in his arms. 

She sprang from him. “ Don’t—don’t touch 
me! It can never be. I am tainted—I am 
black. You must go away,” and she sank again 
upon the floor. 

“ Black—Louville—what nonsense? What 
does this mean? Why are you here? In this 

150 






THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


house-—in danger? ” But she only moaned and 
he turned to Malvina. 

“What is the meaning of this? What are 
you doing with this girl? ” 

Malvina squared herself with folded arms. 

“ That’s what I axes you? She am mail 
baby. I done riz her up from a baby and you 
come claimin’ her. Whar you done met up 
with her? ” 

Louville looked up. “ He’s all right, Mam¬ 
my,” she sobbed. “ I met him when we had a 
fire—at the convent. He came to write about 
it. Then I saw him many times,—we—we were 
engaged—I—I meant to tell you—that was my 
secret—but now—now—it’s all over.” 

The young man caught her up from the floor. 

“ No, no, Louville—I’ll find out the truth. 
Why do you keep this young lady here? ” 
And he looked sternly at the negress. 

Malvina gazed at him in amazement. 

“ Why she am mah baby, I tells you, what 
I riz up an’ mothered and wuk fur—my chile.” 

“ There’s something very strange here. My 
name is George Dickinson—here’s my card. 
The girl is white. She is not your child. 
Where did the money come from for her educa¬ 
tion? I will find out the whole story and don’t 
you forget it. Louville, you can’t stay here— 
this is a dangerous place. You may be killed; 
I will take you to my mother.” 

Louville shrank away from him. “ But I 
can’t go, I’m black! I am black! ” 

151 









MOSTLY COMICS 


44 You are no more black than I am. I’ll sift 
this matter to the bottom,” and George put his 
arms about her. 

The old negress caught his arm. 

44 How I know who you is? Maybe you is a 
kidnapper and will steal mah baby. Louville, 
baby, does you want to leave yo’ ole mammy? ” 

The girl looked from one to the other. 

44 Oh, I don’t know—I don’t know—I am 
afraid here, but I don’t know.” 

The young reporter held her fast. 

44 You must come—you are not safe here a 
minute: I have a taxi outside at the rear,” and 
before Malvina realized it she stood alone in 
the little cottage—alone with her broken door 
propped up with a chair, alone with the broken 
heart that would not be healed. 

Her baby gone, with scarcely a look back! 
After her years of devotion! She sat for hours 
as one in a daze and then she went to the drawer 
and brought forth the treasured bundles. 

44 Oh, mah lil missy, mah lil white missy! 
You with the fairy foots! I is glad you nevah 
live to see this day. I stood by mah trus’, 
honey. Honest to Gawd, I stood by mah 
trus’! ” 

Suddenly she sprang up and paced the floor. 

44 Maybe that white man was a sure nuff kid¬ 
napper.” 

She had heard of such things. And she 
feverishlv donned her hat and coat, and went 

%J 7 

to the convent several miles away. Sister Bea- 

152 





THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


trice was very patient and gentle even though 
roused at such a late hour, and listened care¬ 
fully to Malvina’s story. She telephoned to 
the address on the young man’s card and was 

reassured bv his mother that Louville was all 

-» %/ 

right and was now sleeping and that she would 
have all the care possible. Then, although the 
kind-hearted Sister tried to urge Malvina to 
remain, she trudged back home with aching feet 
and a heavy heart. 

The next day Sister Beatrice had another 
caller. An alert, up-to-date young man, with 
a brisk reportorial air. George Dickinson was 
a Northern man who had not the slightest con¬ 
ception of the negro mammy of the South and he 
listened in amazement to the story. So ac¬ 
customed was he to scenes and tales of cupidity 
and selfishness as a reporter for a great daily, 
that he could scarcely believe what he heard—a 
story that had been sealed on mammy’s lips for 
years and was only wrung from her now to ex¬ 
onerate her darling. 

Malvina’s little Missy had married a “ Poor 
White ” Mountaineer, handsome, but beneath 
her in caste, and had been disowned by her 
family. She had lived aw^ay from her people 
in the mountains, and w f hen her husband was 
killed, had not long survived the shock. On 
her death bed, she had sent for Malvina, im¬ 
ploring her to care for the baby. The old 
homestead was in the hands of an elder brother, 
proud and unrelenting, who refused to see the 

163 



MOSTLY COMICS 


child and Malvina had at last drifted to 
Chicago. 

George Dickinson looked at Sister Beatrice. 

“ But she says she was educated here. 
Where did the money come from? ” 

The Sister shook her head. 

“ I do not know. Her bills were paid 
promptly. We made a moderate charge, as 
we loved the child and knew something, a 
little, of her history, but not all of it until last 
night. 

“ Mrs. Harris must have paid them from her 
own pocket. She came to find out about you 
last night.” 

The young man looked at her in astonishment. 

“ Came last night? ” 

“Yes, walked most of the way, I think; the 
cars do not run regularly out here so late.” 

“ My God! Pardon me, Sister. I wondered 
how you knew where to find us. I’ll go hunt up 
the old soul. I love the young lady and w T ant 
her to marry me, but I guess the old woman had 
some right to know. Why, she claimed the girl 
was her own, just to save her from the mob. 
Thanks a thousand times, Sister, you’re a pippin 
—I mean you’re a brick and all the goods—Oh, 
well, I mean you’re all right,” and he rushed 
away. 

The cottage was empty, the broken door 
nailed, but there was no response and George 
could not find any one who knew where Malvina 
had gone. He gathered up the news for the 

154 




THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


day’s stories, boarded a car and went to the 
office. The Christmas spirit was in the air. At 
the busiest corner in the world, the crowds 
jostled one another good-naturedly. The red 
coat of the street Santa Claus gave holiday 
color and dimes and dollars dropped into the 
boxes for the poor. 

At five o’clock George was sent to the North 
Side for a story, near his own home on Elm 
Street. A burglary had been committed on the 
Lake Shore Drive. George got his story and 
thought he would drop around to the house for 
a moment, but he dreaded to tell Louville of the 
unsuccessful quest for Malvina. He felt a 
little guilty toward his paper when he thought 
of what a wonderful scoop the whole story would 
be, but the reporter was lost in the lover, and 
he quieted his reportorial conscience. 

The sky was heavenly blue. The lake—owing 
to the mild season, free from ice, tossed with 
gentle restlessness against the beach. The strip 
of parkway was full of people, enjoying the 
late season. A party of horseback riders 
cantered on the dirt roads. The stately homes 
upon the Lake Shore Drive seemed to frown dis¬ 
dainfully upon the “ hoi polloi,” but in the 
language of the vulgar small boy, “ they should 
worry.” 

Suddenly George gazed in astonishment. 
Ahead of him trudged an ample figure in a w^orn 
plush coat, black skirt and a man’s straw hat. 
It could not possibly be—but it was! 

155 




MOSTLY COMICS 


“ Er—Mrs. Harris—what are you doing 
here? ” 

She squared around, with a semblance of her 
old time ferocity. 

“ I axes you—what am you doin’ here— 
whar’s my baby? ” 

“ You look tired-” 

“ Nevah you min’—my foots is failin’ off but 
I’s gwine to fin’ out for mahse’f ef you is keerin’ 
for dat chile right.” 

Something choked a little in the young man’s 
throat. He had just been discharged from 
overseas service. He hadn’t lost his nerve over 
there, but somehow this old woman, footsore, 
deserted, yet adoring, got his heart strings to 
throbbing. 

“ You are coming right home with me, Mrs. 
Harris, and meet my mother. The little girl 
would not give me any peace until I looked you 
up. I’ve been searching everywhere. She 
wanted to come, but I thought it w r asn’t w r ise.” 

Malvina caught his arm. 

“ Did my baby want me? Did she—oh, dat 
am worf all the walkin’! Gawd save us, man, 
mah foots is so’.” 

And they met again, Louville and Malvina— 
rushing into each other’s arms! 

“ Oh, forgive me, my blessed Mammv! I 
didn’t mean to desert you. I was so afraid, but 
—you’ll never, never leave us again. When we 
get married you shall live with us forever and 
ever.” 


156 





THE WOMAN WITH THE WHITE SOUL 


“ Thank de Lawd, baby, I believes in Him an’ 
His Christmas. I done got mighty skeplicum 
when you went away but I axes Him ovah and 
ovah for a miracle an’ it come, baby, it come.” 

Later there was a wonderful Christmas Eve. 
A light fall of snow gave the proper realistic 
touch. There was a tree too, a beautiful tree, 
such as Mammy had never seen, loaded with all 
manner of gifts for her use and comfort. 

“ Look like hone} 7 chile,” she said, with eyes 
shining, “ look like ev’y da} 7 gwine to be Christ¬ 
mas for me ’tell I die. Sho’s you is bawn, it do 
look dat away.” 


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